Willpower
by AnnaGhost94
Summary: Brother story set after the end of the film. Robin says something thoughtlessly cruel to Will, who runs away into the forest. But someone is on his trail, someone with a score to settle against his family...
1. Chapter 1

Summary: brother story set after the end of the film. Robin says something thoughtlessly cruel to Will, who runs away into the forest. But someone is on his trail, someone with a score to settle against his family-someone dangerous. It is a race between Robin and this deadly stranger to find Will, who is dealing with problems of his own.

As you can probably tell from the title, this story is about Will Scarlett, the best character in the film and one who I always thought should have had more attention and screen time. Many people have mentioned that there aren't enough brother stories about Will and Robin-hopefully this can help set that right! Set just after the end of the film, so Robin and Marian are married-this will be a brother fic! It will be a multi-chapter story of I would estimate at this point about ten chapters. Rated T because there will be some torture in later chapters I think. I hope you like it!

Willpower

Chapter 1:

Will Scarlett still found it difficult to believe that things could be this simple.

Sure, _he_ had not changed much. It was more like his world had spun wildly on its axis around him, leaving him reeling. He had a brother, and a newly-married one at that. And he no longer had to fear the sheriff or even other nobles who in the past might have hanged him for poaching, if they had caught him. Though people had rarely tended to catch Will. He was too fast, too good. But now he no longer even had to poach, did not even have to steal.

The little forest settlement of the Merry Men had remained-at least, what they had been able to salvage from the last raid had remained. Robin had remained-Will had half-expected him to return to his manor and his lands, but neither he nor Marian had done so. Somehow, the freedom and hardship of this lifestyle in the wilds that Will had always known was something that both of the nobles had found themselves unwilling to leave. They existed in harmony with the nearby villages-in peace.

Will had never known peace. After his mother had died of a fever when he had been only eight years old, ten years ago now, he had gone wild himself. It had been the kind of a fever that nobles easily recovered from, with warmth and comfort and rest, and good food, none of which his mother had been able to enjoy-and all because that treacherous devil-worshipper Locksley had thrown her out. Will had been able to trace the blame even further back-to Robin. Right then the hatred had flowered in his heart and begun to explode outwards. He had barely cared what he did so long as it aggravated a noble, preferably Locksley-barely even cared, at first, if he lived or died.

Finding Fanny and John had saved him from that. Both rough, kindly people, finding the starving, bitter, furious young boy curled up and waiting for slow death from the cold in the middle of a winter nearly two years after his mother had passed away, they had taken him in, certainly saved his life. Fanny had raised seven children all in all-what she did not make a fuss of, in tacit respect for Will's pride, was that one of them had been him. He had been wild, angry, untamed, wary-but under their care he had found the will to live. A born survivor, his natural fierceness for life had been rejuvenated, a dying flame flaring up anew, and he had never looked back. Fanny and her family became, somehow, if not his own family, people he would give his life for, and the Sheriff became his enemy. He had been forced to flee to the forest at the age of fifteen, after stealing one of the Sheriff's deer and calling the man something-rather unsavoury-when he had been discovered. He had ended up ceding the deer-it had been the only way he could have escaped, though still now the memory of having had to run away grated on his pride.

Things had been…hard, but normal. Safe, in a savage, dangerous way, because he understood them. Until Robin of Locksley had come blowing out of the woods, resurrecting all Will's former hatred for that entire stinking family; Robin of Locksley with his false nobility and his arrogance and his risking of their lives for his own personal glory. And so maybe it had been cowardly and stupid to try and stab him in the back that time, but Will had been so angry…his reason clouded by a haze of rage and vengeance. And he had suffered for it-he still had the livid scar on his hand as a souvenir of that reckless act. The fact that Robin was his half-brother had only made it worse-a connection Will could never break and never fully deny to this man he hated more than any other who walked this world.

But somehow it had been all right. When Will had come stumbling back towards their camp after agreeing to turn traitor for the Sheriff, he had not known whose side he was on, if he would betray Robin or stand by him. Not known himself whether his tentative belief in what Robin was fighting for, in the possibility that he had changed, was stronger than his hatred.

And now-peace. Harmony. Safety. A family.

He did not know how to deal with it, was not used to it. He knew danger so well, knew war so well that now-he was at a loose end. For days now he had felt the frustration bottling up inside him, the need to run, fight, do something _powerful_. Robin's over-protectiveness did not help. Back when they had still been chasing the last few of Nottingham's soldiers out of the forest he had tried to stop Will even going on the raids-not that he had succeeded-and when, a few days ago, a newly-built treetop shelter had caved in, trapping one of Fanny's children on a narrow beam, Robin had physically tackled Will to stop him climbing the next tree and reaching out to drag the child to safety. It had been a bad moment-Will had made it to the tree and begun to climb, the little girl's terrified face metres above pleading with him, when Robin had dragged him bodily from the trunk with a shout: "It's too dangerous, Will!" and begun the climb himself. Will shuddered with momentary fury at the memory, then tried to push the anger away.

He seemed to have been pushing away a lot of his emotions lately.

Will was striding back into camp with the weight of several dead rabbits in a sack in one hand and his two trademark knives in his belt. Robin was the best bowman anyone knew, but even he could not match Will at knife-throwing. Robin was a good ten years older, too, but while he had his own skills he simply had not grown up as Will had, and was not as woodwise, as quick, or as cautious as his younger brother. Now he came ducking out of the shelter he had taken to sharing with Marian and turned to greet the youth heading towards him.

"Good hunting, huh?"

Sometimes it was still hard to believe that he actually did care about Will. What was even harder for Will to accept was the realisation that he actually did believe it.

Will hefted the sack. "Yeah. Do I want to know what you've been doing while I was gone?" As if to illustrate his meaning, Marian came out of the shelter after Robin at that moment, smoothing her hair; she shot Will a smile, not having heard him, then bent to take her own bow from beside the shelter's entrance.

"Aren't you coming to prove you're still better than me?" she asked Robin with a challenge in her eyes. He grinned ruefully.

"Do I have a choice? I'll see you by the river in a few minutes." He bent down and started buckling his boot as Will brushed past him into the dim, smoky interior of the shelter itself to deposit his burden.

"I was thinking it might be worth going out to the edge of Lord Chevron's lands," he called back to Robin. "I heard tell in the village he might be gathering soldiers, there's a chance he could be planning to strike at us. We know he was a friend of Nottingham's."

"Don't worry," Robin's voice floated back. "I spoke with him weeks ago, just in case. He was very friendly after I revealed what Nottingham had actually been trying to do."

Will set down the bloody bag of rabbits and shoved back a lock of fair hair that had fallen over his forehead. "Are you sure you can trust him? He is a noble, after all…" There was a mocking note to his voice, but he was only half-joking. Robin was one thing. But the entire lot of them? So maybe he had got past his unquenchable hatred for their entire class-that didn't mean that they _weren't_ a bunch of arrogant, selfish, money-grubbing spoilt children at heart.

Robin poked his head into the shelter. "Oh come on, Will. We're not all that bad."

"Not _all_ of you," Will muttered darkly. "Still. I might go and check him out."

"You can't spy on a friend, Will," Robin returned, looking a little annoyed.

"Oh, he's a friend now?" The old quick reckless anger was rising inside him-he barely knew why. It was like a defence mechanism he had developed over the years of fighting alone, of surviving, and not as easily pushed away. He struggled to control himself-Robin wasn't even antagonising him this time.

"He's not an enemy. For God's sake, Will. Just because you grew up fighting every man who looked at you wrong because of some stupid grievances doesn't mean Lord Chevron is a threat! Leave him alone, all right? It's the honourable thing to do."

Will's temper broke, the floodgates opening and releasing a torrent of repressed anger he was powerless to control. "Stupid grievances? You mean like you and your saintly father throwing my mother out to _die_?" His voice had risen to a shout and his fists were clenched-he was ready to spring at Robin, to kill him. "And I guess you don't think a pathetic peasant like me has any sense of honour, don't you? Just 'cause you grew up with servants running to pick up your handkerchiefs and a father stupid enough to do anything for you, you nobles still think you're the only ones who know what the word _fair_ means!"

"I didn't say that, Will." Robin had come fully into the shelter and stood in the shadows before his younger brother. He was looking angry too, now. Shoot you in the hand angry. Kill Nottingham angry. Dangerous angry. Maybe it was a family trait. "For God's sake, didn't we get past this?"

"Apparently, you didn't learn anything!"

Rage flashed in Robin's eyes. "Don't you tell me what I did and didn't learn, Will Scarlett. And don't you insult my father. Your prejudices get in the way of everything you do or say and you're the one that can't seem to learn. And for God's sake you can't go running out there antagonising the nobles _now_, it's far too dangerous and completely unnecessary."

"Too _dangerous_?" Will yelled. He was suddenly standing nose-to-nose with Robin, reading the tightly suppressed fury in his brother's eyes and glorying in it. He felt, bizarrely, freer than he had in weeks. "Too damn _dangerous_? You still think I'm a fool, right, you hypocrite? You don't give a damn till it turns out I'm your brother and then you decide to try and rule my life? I've survived on my own for years without you! What do you know of danger?"

"I fought in the Crusades," Robin said, very quietly. "I watched good men die for a cause they barely understood."

"You didn't grow up having to kill to survive when you were ten years old because your father had _betrayed_ your mother and left her to die!"

Robin lunged forwards, suddenly, shoving Will up against the wall of the shelter, taking him by surprise. "Don't you _dare_ insult _my_ father's memory," he hissed. "Don't you dare blame him for my mistakes. For once in your life can't you shut your mouth, show some respect and accept that you're wrong? You're acting just like that pathetic little peasant, you know that, Will? _Damn_ it-" And he flung himself away, striding fast out of the shelter. Will did not see Robin put his head in his hands outside, did not see his expression of horror and self-hatred as he realised what exactly he had said to his impetuous, bitter little brother. He only saw the past: his mother's dead face, Robin's self-satisfied smirk as he started taking control of the camp right in the beginning. He saw decades of wrongness and hatred and pain he would never be able to defeat, saw a life he would never be able to conform to, a gulf between brothers far too wide to ever bridge.

He could not take this any longer.

He turned away and exited the shelter by the other door, his ragged cloak swinging about his shoulders, hands clenched, eyes blinded by stinging tears of rage and anguish. If he stayed he would kill Robin. If he stayed he would begin to believe that he _should_ kill Robin. If he stayed he would go insane. Robin was just like all the others, a smug, stupid, arrogant fool who just didn't know what it was like for your entire life to have been a fight for survival. And Will had been insane to think that there could ever be a place for him in a world where he was Robin's brother.

He had to leave.

He strode away into the twilight through the forest, silent and shaking, fierce with emotion. He looked back, just once, at the camp, the faint firelight, the low murmur of voices. He flicked his unruly blond hair out of his eyes and took a shuddering breath. And then he turned back to the shadows of the future and began to run.

Okay-so I don't like Robin very much. I'm a Will girl myself…but I am going to try _so_ hard to make Robin a good guy in this story anyway. I promise! I don't know how old they're meant to be…I just see them as about 18 and 28, and if it was mentioned in the film or something then I didn't notice…I really hope you liked the story and I would love it if you'd leave me a review, of any kind, good or bad, just whatever you think. If anyone's interested then I will continue the story, so I really appreciate hearing whatever you can say about this. So please review!

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

My thanks again to Tia-Pixie, Nicky1992 and WestAero13 for your reviews, also to those who added this to Story Alert-it is much appreciated! Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it. The text in italics is a flashback, as you would probably have realised without my saying that actually!

Chapter 2:

Robin had stormed off into the trees after that stupid confrontation with Will-maybe it would have been better to go right away and try and make peace, but he had simply not been able to face his little brother at that moment, through a mixture of shame and lingering rage. He had just half-run into the forest with his bow and spent a full three hours firing arrows into trees with a kind of ferocious intensity, having completely forgotten about his arrangement to meet Marian by the river. It was only as the sky began to darken that he realised he could not stay out here forever, and reluctantly turned back in the direction of the camp. He was beginning to feel extremely guilty about what he had said to Will-certainly, the boy was prejudiced, and he was reckless, angry, defensive, unnecessarily aggressive. But he had grown up, as he had said, living every day as a fight for survival, existing in hatred and war and danger, and Robin should at least try to be a little more understanding about that. And what he had actually said…well, there was no excuse for that.

He had to apologise, at least.

He was greeted on entering the camp, bow slung over his shoulder, by a wild-eyed Marian rushing up to him. "Where were you?" she demanded-but as it turned out she was not angry about his effectively standing her up. "I heard about your fight with Will and now he's nowhere to be found! We've been looking everywhere for the both of you!"

He stopped, stood stock-still, staring at her. "What d'you mean?" he asked in sudden panic. "You don't know where he is? Surely…"

"Wulf saw him running into the forest ages ago," she reported, leading him back into the bustling camp. "Left him alone-apparently he just tends to run away for a little while just to cool down after something like that. But he hasn't returned and we haven't been able to find him…"

Robin swore, panic pulsing in his heart. "_No_-he must have done something stupid…three hours since he was seen?"

She nodded.

"Very well. I'm going out to find him."

"How?" she said wildly. "He hid his tracks, there's no sign of where he could have gone."

"I think I may know, though," Robin said with a kind of hopeful determination. "You have to stay here, and if he should come back _keep him here_, all right?" He shivered. "He must be freezing, going off like that when it's nearly winter…"

Marian must have read the anguish in his eyes, as she suddenly made an evident effort to control herself. "Robin, I'm sure he'll be fine. He'll show up here in a couple of days, and he won't hold whatever it was against you…"

"If he was planning to come back he wouldn't have cleared his tracks," Robin told her darkly. "And you don't know what I told him. There's no forgiving that." He pulled his cloak closer about him. "I'll come back," he told her. "And I'll find him."

…..

Will huddled deeper into his thin cloak, shivering violently with cold. His teeth were chattering and he knew that this part of the plan at least had been stupid. Well, it wasn't as if there had actually _been_ a plan, he reflected. But at this rate he was going to freeze to death. It was after all November, and frost had been covering the ground in the mornings. Soon the snows would come.

Also, it wasn't as if he knew where he was going.

He had started off heading in no particular direction. Maybe deep down he had still wanted to and check out Lord Chevron, who was supposed to be gathering some sort of an army, but he no longer fully believed that. It had been more an excuse to _go_ somewhere, to prove that he had not changed, to do something useful. And of course the man was a noble, and he would never trust them all. But if Robin had already met with him then there was not going to be much point.

He had nowhere to go.

All he could hope to do was reach another village somewhere and actually learn a trade. As it was he could fight with a knife, he was good with animals and knew the forest, and was a fairly accomplished thief as well, but did not exactly know much of honest work. He had acted as a guide for a time, when he was about fourteen, leading travellers safely through Sherwood Forest for however much he could entreat them to give him-his age had been a double-edged sword. On the one hand many people had been so impressed by this young boy's skills that they had paid him a truly substantial amount-otherwise, they had not trusted such a child to be able to protect them, and had not even considered hiring his services.

Still, he was older now, and maybe he could do that again.

All at once a wave of overpowering grief came washing over him and he had to stop and lean against a tree to breathe through it. He had, despite his frustration and anger, really valued the life he had shared with Robin, Fanny, Wulf and the others back at camp. He _cared_ about them. Fanny was perhaps not a mother, but certainly some sort of close aunt. And Robin…Will had been so sure that being his brother could work. He had had enough proof in the last few weeks…

_"I'll make my stand with you side by side to the end," Robin whispered into Will's blood-streaked, wild face, gripping him tightly, and there was such verity and feeling in his blue eyes that Will believed it as he had believed nothing else in his life. His older brother, the man he had so recently hated with such passion, pulled him into a fierce embrace and Will fought the tears, unwilling to show his weakness, his heart hurting with something he had not felt in a long time. That mixture of hope and love and safety being with his mother had always filled him with._

_ Feeling it now was just…overwhelming._

_ Robin was releasing him now, the wonder in his face like a tangible aura. Will tried to smile through the pain of his injuries-the Sheriff had not stinted on lashing his back and chest and he felt as if he had lost a lot of blood. Many times over the course of his stumbling lonely journey back to camp he had fallen and once almost passed out. He swayed as his brother let go of him, putting out a hand to steady himself against the tree John had shoved him down against. They were all staring at him; he could feel their eyes burning into him-they were not sure what to make of him, nor of Robin. He wanted to run-he hated prying eyes, hated to be underestimated, hated anyone to see him this weak. _

_ And yet he was somehow more filled with hope, and lighter of heart, than he had been in years._

_ Robin seemed to perceive his exhaustion and moved forwards once more, concern reflected in his eyes. "Come on, Will. I need to clean those cuts."_

_ Will shook his head, trying to summon that old cocky smile. "No. I'm fine…don't worry about me, you need to work on getting Wulf and the others out alive…" He suddenly felt light-headed and was certain he was about to collapse, so he sat down quickly at the bole of the tree, trying to ignore how much it hurt. Robin sighed._

_ "Will, you can barely even stand. Come with me." He took his brother's arm and dragged him back to his feet-Will fought to keep the ground beneath him as they rose, Robin gripping him about the waist to keep him upright, careful of the livid whip-marks. He half-carried Will across to the relative shelter of a thick bush with blankets piled over it that was making do as a temporary shelter, and John followed, bearing a pail of water and a slightly repentant expression. Robin eased Will down onto the ground and dipped the end of his cloak into the pail, squeezing the water out across one of the worst of the whipstings crossing his brother's chest-it stung and Will felt his whole body jerk with the pain. Robin placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. "Easy, Will. I have to do this."_

_ "Let me," Will said tightly, reaching out to stop him._

_ "You can't see properly what has to be done." He drew the fabric of his cloak gently over another cut and Will had to grit his teeth against the pain. It felt as if they were being scored into his body once more, rather than healed. "I'm sorry," Robin muttered. Will tried to shrug it off but it hurt too much. The world was spinning a little around him and he felt dizzy and sick. It was as if, having come so far, all the pain and exhaustion he had managed to fight back while on the way were just coming rushing back in in full force, staggering him. He closed his eyes tight to try and control himself, then felt Robin pushing him back against the blankets strewn over the bush as he continued to clean the whipstings, fought his brother's touch instinctively._

_ "Hey, relax. You can sleep now, Will, I'm almost done."_

_ Again he tried to fight it, but his exhaustion was weighing him down and it had been longer than he could remember since he had last felt safe, reasonably or not. He drifted into darkness in his older brother's care-he had made it this far. He had crossed the dividing line of his life._

How could it all be over? Will wondered a little hopelessly. But their fight had told him that whatever they wanted to pretend, they were too different and could never live in true peace. Robin had wronged him the past, and Will had apparently not forgiven him quite as easily as he had believed. They could never be true brothers-there was too much history between them, and too little.

But against his will it saddened him to lose the tentative life he had been building up since the death of the Sheriff. There had been a lot that he had left behind.

…

John Crawford spat on the woman's mangled body one final time, wiping the blood from his stubbled face with his one leathery hand, glaring across at the man who was bound so fast to the opposite wall of the dim, cluttered, damp-smelling little cottage he was having trouble breathing. Crawford liked the agony in his eyes, liked the tears he had shed-he had loved it when he had screamed when he had made his first cut into his wife's stomach.

"So now you know," he breathed. "What happens to those who displease me." He lifted the twisted stump of his missing hand, waggling it grotesquely in front of the bound farmer's face. "You know who did this to me? The man I'm going to destroy next. See, I realised something a long time ago-there's something that hurts people more than you cutting open their flesh and drinking their blood. I realised there's something worse, and that's making them watch while you do it to the people they love-every single one of them, swatting them like flies. Kinda like I did to you. Your children. Your sister. Your wife. All gone, leaving you all alone. And you know what else? I won't be killing you now. Just remember that for the next time you refuse a hungry traveller your daughter's company for a night. Remember what he might take instead."

"No-" the farmer gasped as Crawford turned towards the door, his enormous bulk blocking out the sunlight. The stench of blood within the hovel was almost overpowering. "_No_-kill me too-I beg you-"

Crawford turned briefly, smiled a snaggle-toothed leer. "I always love it when they beg," he whispered. "But this time there's a better way. Kill yourself instead, friend, and dance down to hell like the rest of your pathetic brood." Suddenly his grin widened. "Hey, that sounds good," he breathed in a kind of ecstasy. "Dance down to hell…"

And then he was gone, leaving the hapless farmer racked with an agony of sobs against the wall of his own shattered household.

Crawford yawned as he mounted one of the farmer's largest horses out in the yard-the beast was motionless under his weight, as if realising the extreme danger it was in just by being near him. He was still singing softly as he kicked his heels into the horse's sides and they began to move, in a tuneless, cracked, wheezy voice-"Dance, dance down to hell…" He inhaled deeply the stench of blood caught in his wiry beard and he smiled. Then his gaze fell onto the stump of his hand and he shook his head slowly.

"You brought this upon yourself, Locksley," he said softly. "You will see your nearest and dearest fall, scream for mercy, bleed out and die already rotting. You will see. And then I will be revenged. And you, Locksley-you can go dancing down to hell like all the others." And a breathy, insane giggle escaped his lips as he trotted forwards through the twilight on the horse's sweating back, the sound racketing away behind him with a wisp of death' foul smell, as if he was the devil himself riding abroad that night, watching.

I hope that last scene wasn't too graphic or disturbing or anything, I just wanted to make it clear what kind of a psycho he is…and I know the flashback I used from the film has been done, but I just loved that scene so much I had to get it in here somehow! Please review, it'll really make my day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your reviews, hope you like the new chapter! Which as I just have to tell you cos I'm weird that way is the first thing I've posted since I turned seventeen yesterday-yes, just had to get that out there. Anyway, enjoy!**

Chapter 3:

John Crawford was one of the few people in the world who knew about Will Scarlett's true heritage. He had once lived in Will's village, and having been always a suspicious man who never allowed any scrap of information to pass him by, he had noticed and put two and two together when Will and his mother had returned secretive and furious from the Locksley manor. He was not the only one, certainly. But he also knew that by now Robin of Locksley was aware of his young half-brother, and thanks to a brief stint spying on their camp in the forest, knew also that Will was one of the people Robin cared about most in the world.

Which was enough for him. It was Robin upon whom he wanted to avenge himself, and there was no better way to do it than to begin by killing his young brother, slowly and gleefully, in front of him, before moving onto his other loved ones.

He had reached the forest camp once more and chosen a spot to hide and wait for the chance to take Will Scarlett-listening. It was only then that he had become aware that Will was no longer within the camp at all, but that he had apparently run off and that Robin had in fact gone after him. On hearing this Crawford's face had twisted into a leer of sadistic satisfaction-this was perfect. Will would be alone in the forest, vulnerable and isolated, and just _waiting_ for someone to attack him. He might even be able to get hold of Robin at the same time, and that would just be such ideal timing. He was certain in that moment of realisation that if there was a God, he was undoubtedly on his side.

He loved hurting children. Causing anyone pain was his greatest source of pleasure, but the younger they were the more intense the thrill he would experience within. Certainly, Will was not exactly a child, but he was barely a man, and Robin cared about him, and that was enough for Crawford. He was going to enjoy this conquest more than any before.

….

Robin was at a loose end-he could find neither hide nor hair of Will, after searching for several days. He had gone first to Lord Chevron, though not really expecting Will to have gone there-he had been desperate. The knight had listened to him courteously, then replied: "I have seen no sign of this boy myself, but my son did mention seeing a figure watching the manor a few days ago, who fled into the woods when he called out to him."

"Thank you," Robin said fervently. "Did he say which way he went?"

Chevron considered. "East, I believe. Three days ago. Though there is no proof that it was the boy you seek."

"It's enough," Robin said. "Thank you." Chevron shot him an indulgent smile, then shook his head a little.

"What I don't understand is why are you so worried, Robin. He is just a peasant, after all."

"He is my brother," Robin had said, a little stiffly, surprised.

Chevron had not looked impressed. "Maybe so, but still just a peasant like all the rest of them. Is he really worth all this, Robin?"

Robin had left him without another word-if he had allowed himself to speak he was sure he would have said something he would seriously regret later. Sometimes he was inclined to think Will had been right about nobles all along-all nobles, including himself. At any rate, since then he had been moving through Sherwood Forest for many days now-_he_ had brought warm clothing and food supplies, and the actual journey was no difficulty for him. It was just that he knew so well that Will had none of the same.

There was nothing he could do except continue walking East, asking anyone he met-and there were few of them, out here in the wilderness-for news of his brother, searching in vain for tracks. But Will was too good a woodsman for him, and had hidden his passage well. It was as if he had just disappeared into the forest like smoke on the wind.

Robin found it a struggle to keep believing that everything would be all right. With every day that passed without him finding Will he felt the flame of his hopes die that little bit more-he feared that one morning he would wake up to find them crumbled away completely into ash.

…

Will was sleeping slumped and motionless at the bole of a tree, asleep, when he first realised that he was being followed. He jerked into wakefulness, startled by an indefinable noise somewhere not far away and did not move, eyes tight shut, listening hard. He was aware of freezing cold, forcing his body not to shiver, the wind whistling between the branches of the trees. Nothing more. Maybe I imagined it, he thought-then again. Hoofbeats. The sound travelled far, vibrating through the trunk of the tree, and that was the only thing that saved him. Someone was nearby, he realised, maybe no more than a few hundred metres, on horseback. And anyone who rode by night through Sherwood Forest was either desperate or insane, neither of which much reassured Will. Silently he got to his feet, gathering the damp folds of his cloak in his arms to keep them from trailing on the ground and making any noise and turned towards the direction of the hoofbeats-best to find out who it was, just in case. He began to move, almost gliding through the shadows, watching for twigs he could step on or branches he could trip over-after some time he became aware of a strange sound.

Singing.

He could not make out the words-just a sort of low, tuneless singing in the darkness. He was beginning to be afraid-it was like some sort of nightmare, or a ghost story to scare the gullible village children, a phantom rider who could only be detected by the sound of his eerie singing. Once you heard the song of the ghost you were lost…he shook his head violently to rid it of such horrible imaginings. That was what the night did to you-made anything possible. And he was not a child any more and should keep his wits about him.

He crouched low to the earth, half-concealed behind a bush, invisible in the moonlight, just in time to see the horse itself come trotting past. It was a tall beast, coat a sleek chestnut colour-at least Will thought so, though it was difficult to see in the darkness. But already open sores marred its back and froth bubbled at its lips, as if it were ridden by a demon. Will could in fact make out very little of the rider himself-he could see the outline of a bulky, muscular man, a cloak with its hood thrown back, hear the tuneless singing far more loudly-aside from this the rider was undistinguishable from the night. Will almost stopped breathing-he could smell blood and death so strongly it almost made him retch. What if it _was_ the devil he had come across here? What if it was not just a story? What if…

"Dance down to hell, dance and don't look back, old master Crawford is coming home at last…"

Will pressed himself into the earth, terror so intense within him he had to fight not to scream. It's no devil, he told himself firmly, desperately. Don't be so stupid. You're no child. Just some drunk farmer taken a wrong turning somewhere. Get a grip on yourself, Will Scarlett-but out here in the darkness and secrecy of the night, the stench of death choking him and that twisted song oozing from a body that had never heard of melody it was all too easy to believe in the horror stories of his childhood. He lay motionless on the ground, barely breathing, until long after the horse and rider had passed him by, his heart thudding in his ears. He was beginning to wish he had never left camp, _like the coward I am_, he thought bitterly.

Things did not improve with the daylight. Will had been unable to sleep again after his nightmare encounter with the singing rider the night before, and had continued walking long before the sun had risen. He was so cold he was no longer even feeling it, and he was starting to be afraid that he had a slight fever, as well. Nausea roiled in his stomach and his head felt heavy and confused. He could not afford to get sick now, so far from civilisation, all alone…

At that moment he heard a terrific thundering noise and whirled round to see an enormous chestnut horse plunging straight towards him, cloaked rider on its back laughing maniacally. Will yelled and flung himself aside, horror-stricken-it was undoubtedly the man from the night before, and somehow Will had never heard him sneak up on him. He must be more exhausted than he had thought…

"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop, what are you doing!"

The man did not reply, only turned his horse for another charge. Will could see his face now, the leering, snaggle-toothed mouth; the nose that looked as if it had been broken far too many times; the greasy strips of dark hair hanging about the ears; the bloodshot, insane pinpricks of eyes. He did not hesitate-he wheeled round and ran. The rider gave another cackling laugh and charged straight after him into the trees.

Will had never run so fast in his life. He pelted through the undergrowth, swerving around trees, leaping over small bushes, darting around corners and flinging himself down gullies in a vain attempt to lose his crazed pursuer. Once he fell hard and his ankle twisted sickeningly beneath him but he did not even register the fall or the pain before he was up again and running on-his breath knifed through his chest, he was stumbling, crawling now as much as running, and always the thundering hooves came on and on behind him, the laughter shattering his sanity, his courage. He could barely see for the sweat-matted hair falling into his eyes, barely breathe. He dared not glance behind him but knew already that the madman was gaining on him, that he was only metres behind, that all that had saved him this long was his agility and easy manoeuvring on foot. He stumbled again and felt a hand catch at his cloak-he heard himself scream as he leaped away. And then he was going too fast to stop, helpless to slow his fall-he had run straight out over the edge of a cliff and he was falling fast and helplessly-

He struck icy water with a crash that jarred his entire body and went under. Immediately he was flailing for the surface, coughing, choking, slashing through the freezing water. His head broke through into the air and he gasped in great lungfuls of air, kicking with his fading strength through the current. He forced his exhausted, leaden body to the side of the river and clung to a branch jutting over it, head spinning, chest searing with pain, for now too tired to climb out. At the top of the cliff, so far above it dizzied him, he could see the figure of a horse and a cloaked rider peering over. Hopefully they would think he was dead…

Will dragged himself over the muddy bank, his body shivering violently with cold. He needed to get a fire going somehow and dry off or he would not make it through the next night…he could not bear to think on what had just happened. Why would that madman chase him? What had he wanted? And would he try again? The questions hurt his head-he felt limp and cold and sick of it all. He cursed his own stupidity in running away so ill-prepared-he had brought no flints to light a fire, no warm clothing, no food. If he died out here it would be entirely his own fault.

Like a wounded animal he staggered into the shelter of the trees, falling into the mud in a small clearing, hunching his body over in a vain attempt to conserve what little body heat he had left, trying to quell his uncontrollable shivering. I have to get up, he thought dizzily. I have to move around or I'll die of cold. I have to go…but he did not move, certain that if he did his head would really explode. After a long, long while he tried to change position, stretching his cramped limbs, and immediately his stomach lurched and he retched emptily. He realised that he was sweating, though he was still so cold he could not feel his hands. What's wrong with me? he thought with a kind of detached fear, and then remembered-he must have been right. He _was_ getting a fever, at the worst possible moment. And out here alone and unprepared, possibly pursued by a stinking, crazy horseman, he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

**I'm really not being very nice to Will, am I…hope you liked this chapter, please please review and tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much everyone who reviewed! **

Chapter 4:

Will never knew how he found the strength to go on at all that day. Soaked and shivering and sweating, barely lucid through the haze of fever, wanting nothing more than a chance to lie down somewhere warm and slip away into sleep…but he had grown up fighting for his survival and he knew perfectly well that if he allowed himself to just collapse in this kind of condition his chances of ever getting up again were extremely small. He needed to find shelter, food, water-preferably civilisation, but he was not counting on that.

He stumbled on into the forest, trying to force his exhausted body to continue moving if only to warm himself up a little. After what seemed like countless hours he stopped where he was and began to gather sticks and moss to build some kind of basic shelter against the icy winds. Every time he bent down to lift a stick his head span and he wondered if he would be able to straighten up again-and yet always he did, fighting on with all his willpower until the end. After toiling until long after dark, waging a constant battle with his failing strength, he was able to stand back and regard the pitiful shelter he had erected-it had seemed much larger when he was building it. Well, it was gappy and cramped and would probably fall down before long, it would have to do. He longed to build a fire but he had no swift way of doing it and what was more he had no wish to draw that madman on the tortured horse back towards once more. He shivered at the memory, wishing that he could pass it off as a facet of his growing delirium but knowing that it had been far too real.

Who had that lunatic been? And why had he chosen to attack Will? What was the point? He had no money, no possessions in the world in fact nothing but his life to gamble with. It made no sense…

Thinking was beginning to make his head hurt, so he crawled awkwardly into the shelter, marginally warmer once inside and thinking that the physical labour had at least brought an end to his previous uncontrollable shivering. He tried to keep his eyes open, to remain alert, to think, but the sickness and the exhaustion were a black tide dragging him down and he fell with them, hopelessly, seemingly endlessly.

…

John Crawford was not in the slightest discouraged at having lost the boy during their wild chase through the woods. It had been an exhilarating and thrilling race, after all, and Will Scarlett had fought harder for freedom than he had expected. For that he could afford to grant him a little more time…this was going to be a far more interesting conquest than any before, he could see it already.

Now, however, treading quietly through the forest on the back of his crazed horse, he was back to business. Scarlett was here somewhere; he had seen where he had made it out of the river, and from there it had not been especially difficult to track the progress of his stumbling, unsteady escape through the undergrowth. He must be hurt, or sick-that was always an added bonus, of course, if someone else had begun the job for him, giving the victim an extra disability, an extra source of fear and pain. Crawford went on, silently at first, then gradually breaking out into song once more, or bursts of wheezy giggling, while his horse whickered softly from time to time, or moaned in the anguish its existence had become.

It was nearing midnight when Crawford came across the shelter, just a small, scrappy bundle of twigs and leaves really, barely covering a figure who lay so still he might have been dead. Crawford bent down, roughly dragging the sticks away to reveal the body beneath-someone not very tall, wiry, clad in slightly ragged woodsman's garb, with a shock of fair hair-he had run down his quarry. He smiled and pawed away the rest of the twigs-at that moment Will came surging up from the ground, one hand coming across Crawford's face in a short, fast strike. Will used the motion to push himself to his feet-he might have escaped had he not forgotten his fever-dizziness swept over him and he swayed, almost falling, and in that instant Crawford, spitting blood and a broken tooth from his craggy mouth, flung himself on him.

Will went down under the man's massive bulk, struggling and clawing at the earth, swearing viciously, but he could not pull free. Crawford was really starting to like him now. He reached forwards and clamped his two beefy hands around the youth's skull-Will yelled and thrashed wildly, fighting to throw him off, but Crawford just braced himself, then slammed the side of Will's head hard into the mud. He heard his victim give a kind of startled, agonised gasp beneath him, his struggles weakening faintly-he slammed him again and again, excited by the power, and by the time he stood up Will lay motionless in the mud, the side of his head bloody, eyes closed. Crawford nodded his satisfaction, then bent and slid his arms underneath the boy's knees and shoulders lifting him effortlessly, and slinging him over the horse's back, leaning him against his neck, and climbing on behind him. Will slumped back against him and he cackled softly, steadying his young prisoner and kicking the horse's sides with his spurred boots, forcing the poor overburdened animal to leap forward once more, carrying Will away into the darkness.

…

Robin bent low to the earth, suddenly filled with exhilaration, carefully freeing from a clump of tangled gorse a small scrap of blue fabric. Yes, he thought fervently-surely it must come from Will's blue cloak. His little brother had come this way. He lifted his head and looked up, scanning the forest floor for any other signs of human passage-a sort distance away the ground was scuffed up and disturbed. He frowned and strode across to inspect it-he had been right. Strangely, there appeared to be a set of hoof marks dug into the mud, and just visible below them the vague imprint of human footprints. Robin, frowned-could he have been mistaken? Maybe it had not been Will who had come this way after all…but who else could it have been?

He looked ahead, following the hoof marks with his eyes. The horse had broken into a gallop here, he could see, and the disturbed undergrowth and signs of a chase could have belonged to it alone-but then those human prints. In those few places where they were not obscured by the hoof marks, Robin was certain that whoever had made them had been running, hard and unsteadily in places. He tried hard to quell the sudden rising of fear in his heart-if it had been Will, he had been fleeing something; he had been afraid.

_No_, he told himself fiercely. _You don't know that. You don't even know for sure it's Will. Don't panic now. He could need you_…

He rose to his feet and marked the trail left by the horse's passage. He was just going to have to follow this bizarre trail as best he could-it was the best he had found in the way of clues since Will had first run away. He folded the tiny piece of blue cloth tightly in his hand, as if it was somehow a kind of lifeline to his brother, wherever in the world he was…

And he moved forwards to follow the trail.

…

Crawford was well on his way to reaching his forest hideout, having ridden all through the night and most of the next day as well, Will Scarlett still unconscious in the saddle in front of him. He had begun to wake a few hours ago, stirring and moaning in pain, hurt and disoriented, so Crawford had just hit him across the head again, this time with a rock, preferring to keep him out cold until he could restrain him properly. He did not want to lose him now.

Robin was surely tracking them by now. He could not be as stupid as he had seemed all those years ago-at least not _quite_. Crawford had not bothered to conceal his trail for exactly that reason, unwilling to wait too long before the older brother was allowed to witness the horrors in store for Will. If it transpired that Robin was still wandering Sherwood Forest lost and miles in the wrong direction Crawford would have to go out and either lay a better trail to put him on the right track or actually abduct him too. That would be a lot of probably unnecessary trouble, though, and so he was hoping it would not be necessary. He was eager to get started on Will-the prospect of a new victim always left him exhilarated like this. A whole new person with new limits to explore and push, a whole new mind to warp and a new body to destroy.

Now, ahead, he could see the tiny, damp, foul-smelling cave he called home when away from civilisation, and she smiled his snaggle-toothed leer. "See there, Scarlett?" he hissed to his unconscious, unresponsive companion. "That there's your new home. You excited? I know I am…" His words degenerated into a high-pitched giggle and he pushed the horse on. The creature had brought him far, certainly, and it was useful to have a horse about the place, but this one seemed dead on its feet already and he could always steal another one. He might just butcher this one and eat it. The taste of raw flesh gave him such a thrill…he looked thoughtfully at Will. He was skinny, but if he needed a particularly nasty way for Robin to see him die then it was definitely an option to consider.

**Well, I hope you like it! I was going to put Azeem in this one actually, but then I decided to keep it between the two brothers…I hope Crawford is coming across as sufficiently evil! Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for all your reviews, they made me so happy and I am really so surprised by the response for this story. Thank you guys!

Also, I don't know whether it needs a warning, but there is torture in this chapter, nothing too intense or anything but it's there. Just so you know if you don't want to read it.

Chapter 5:

The first thing Will was aware of on waking was pain. His head seemed to be exploding, like whatever Azeem had put in those barrels when he and Robin and the others had saved Wulf and the other captured men from execution at the hands of the Sheriff. He tried to put his hand to it-and discovered, to his terror, that he could not move. He fought the panic, still not opening his eyes, struggling with his sluggish memory. He could feel coarse twine around his wrists-he was tied up. Why? By who?

The man in the forest. He found me asleep…_no_-

Will opened his eyes and blinked against the burning of the light. He needed to see, to understand. Things gradually swam into focus and he forced himself to concentrate through the pounding in his head and the all-obliterating nausea pulsing through him. He was in a cave, the stone walls craggy and stained with some ominous dark liquid, only a faint glimmer of daylight penetrating the shadows, the ceiling low. He was bound to stakes in the wall, his hand and feet immobilised, so fixed that he could not get to his feet, forced to remain awkwardly on his knees. The entire place stank, of flesh and decay and blood, and worse. Squinting up his eyes, Will could just see what appeared to be a large animal carcass lying a few metres away, flies dancing around it. The sight turned his already queasy stomach, and that itself embarrassed him. He was not a faint-hearted person-he must be sicker than he had thought.

He was alone, at least for now. Awkwardly he twisted round and tried to tug his wrists free of the stake, but in vain. He gritted his teeth and tried again, clenching one hand tightly closed to make it as small as possible and scraping it desperately against the cave wall-a sharp stone punctured the skin of his knuckles but still he did not stop. Then, hearing heavy, crunching footsteps, he stopped his attempts swiftly and lifted his head, trying to look as alert and defiant as possible, trying to slow his wildly beating heart. He felt ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he was terrified.

The footsteps grew louder, heavier, and then a figure loomed out of the darkness, stinking of rottenness himself, at least twice as big as Will. It was the man from the forest, and he was smiling with a kind of sadistic delight on seeing Will awake.

"Who the hell are you?' Will spat, trying hard to conceal his fear and pain. "What do you want with me?"

The man-if indeed he was a man, and not some kind of demon-cackled and dropped into a crouch before Will, fingering his young prisoner's face and throat with his thick, leathery fingers. Will jerked his face away angrily, ignoring the surge of nausea the sudden movement prompted, and spat into the small piggy eyes. The man looked surprised, and then his repulsive smiled widened.

"You don't like it, kid?"

"Answer my damn question," Will returned. He had really gotten himself into trouble this time-and how he was going to get out of it he just did not know…

"The name's Crawford, but you can call me Johnny, kiddo, since you and I are gonna be good friends by the end." Again that eerie giggle. "And I think I'll just call you Will. First names are a good way to start, don't you think?"

"Why did you bring me here?" Will demanded, enunciating each word clearly, insultingly. "You understand me? Or are you even stupider than you look?"

Crawford did not seem bothered by his rudeness. "Spirit. I like that, you know? It'll make things so much more interesting when we finally get started." He made himself more comfortable, leaning back against the other wall. "Anyway. Let's just say that a good many years ago, a pumped-up, pasty-faced pr*ck of a nobleman calling himself Robin of Locksley-all hypothetically, of course-happened to interrupt yours truly in a tight spot and, since he was the lucky one with the big shiny sword and friends in high places, he came off a little better." Crawford waved the stump of his left arm in Will's face. "Now, I'm not saying it's all bad. This thing here isn't bad for hitting things with, and you can even stick things on it, like hooks, if you get bored. But it's a matter of pride, you understand, that I get my revenge on your dear older brother in the most artistic way possible. And that, kiddo, is where you come in."

"You're crazy," Will replied with a kind of bitter triumph. "For one thing Robin won't even come looking for _me_. Didn't you think of that? He doesn't give a damn." It hurt to say so, but it was either true or should be. Robin would not come for him. But Crawford only laughed.

"Think what you will, boy. It really doesn't matter. Anyway…" He reached down to his belt and withdrew a long, serrated knife. "We'll have to think of some way to pass the time, now, won't we?"

Will fought to keep the terror from his face, fought to seem strong, to seem fearless, but he had never done anything so difficult. This man was a maniac, and he was helpless in his hands, and he knew what that knife was going to be used for and his breath was catching in his throat he was so scared, the panic clogging his mind, his sight. With a massive effort he managed to pull himself together and even summoned a fierce, mirthless smile.

"I'm open to suggestions," he said, his voice utterly steady. "How about riddles?"

Crawford smiled too and Will was hit again by a blast of his rotten breath. "As you wish, kid," he agreed. "Here's your first _riddle_-how exactly is it possible for me to do this-" He lunged with the knife and sliced it into Will's left shoulder, drawing forth a cry of pain Will just could not prevent-"And for you to not bleed out?" He cocked his head to one side, pausing a few seconds for effect. "Answer-I didn't cut a main vein. But don't get comfortable."

Will forced himself to hold his head steady, agony shooting up and down his arm, his shoulder seeming to be on fire. He tried not to look at the terrifying amounts of blood pumping out of the wound, knowing it would only sicken and panic him further. "Not bad," he gasped out. "Do I get a go or are you the only riddlemaster?"

"Feel free," Crawford told him, eyes glinting as he fingered the knife, inspecting the blood caked along its edge. He put out a finger and caught a droplet of Will's blood, examined it briefly and then slid it between his lips. Will's stomach turned and he struggled not to retch.

"Why is it then," Will asked shakily, "that a man clearly as strong and courageous as John Crawford is too afraid to untie a weaker, injured prisoner and let him fight back like a man?"

"Oh, that's just 'cause I can't be bothered to run after you if you get loose," Crawford told him cheerfully. "I could crush you like a fly, kid, if I wanted. And I may do so by the end. In fact-" he leaned intimately closer, pushing his face sickeningly close to Will's. "You know your brother. What manner of your death d'you think would have the best effect on him?"

Will's head was spinning from blood loss and he was shivering violently now, his breathing further obstructed by the foulness of his captor's stench. "At this rate you'll have suffocated me in your own stink before he ever gets here," he managed. Crawford gave a barking laugh and withdrew his face, grabbing a wad of filthy cloth and jamming it roughly across the stab wound in Will's shoulder, causing him to jerk back against the wall with the added pain, and bound the cloth in place with a length of coarse twine. "Can't have you dying too soon now can I?" he explained conspiratorially, winking, then heaved his massive bulk upright and trudged out of the cavern with the parting riposte: "I'll be back soon and we'll have some more fun, kid, don't worry."

Will leaned his head back against the wall, suddenly weighted down with exhaustion. His arm was throbbing horribly and he longed to be able to cradle it against his body. Since he was incapable of doing so he tried his hardest to ignore it. C'mon, he thought. I've known worse than this. I must have. Certainly he had not missed out on his share of injuries and pain as a child; it just seemed to happen when you were a bit reckless, a bit cocky and extremely belligerent. And being flogged by the Sheriff had been horrific-getting Robin's arrow through his hand had not been any fun either.

It was just hard to focus on anything right now other than how much this _hurt_.

…

Robin dropped into a crouch on the ground, frowning as he inspected the wreck of the tiny bivouac. At least he _thought_ it had been a bivouac-it was more like a pile of sticks and leaves, but to someone in a hurry, or in the dark, it might well have passed as shelter. And the hoofprints he had been following were all around, scattered about the makeshift camp amidst the signs of some violent struggle. From the scuff marks on the ground Robin could tell that someone had been rolling around in the dirt, and it looked as if there had been two of them.

He straightened up, frowning. Was it Will's trail he was following at all? What was going on here? It was clear that there were at least two players in this strange game-but how did they fit together? And how could one of them be his brother? Robin tried to calm himself-Will was not a child, and he knew how to survive, and he was tough and smart. He would be all right-he had to be.

It was just virtually impossible to convince himself of such a thing.

His sharp eyes flashed about the glade, seeking-then alighting on the scrap of blue fabric caught in a bush nearby. He crossed to it, pulled it free, then took out the other to compare them. They came from the same cloth, Will's cloak, surely. Robin stood motionless, thinking hard. This was beginning to look like a deliberate trail, but who would set it? Not Will. He had run off angry and believing that Robin hated him, and in any case why lay a trail when he could just come back?

Unless he was lost, or hurt…all alone…

Robin shook his head. He had no way of solving this riddle. All he could do was go on and pray that when he finally found his brother, Will would be all right.

…

Will was jolted from an uneasy sleep by a sharp jet of pain across his throat, and his eyes snapped open, panicked. Crawford's misshapen, stinking face was inches from his own and he yelled in terror, struggling vainly.

"Sleep well?" his captor asked him cheerfully. "Look what I found for you…" He held up a small glass vial filled with some kind of clear, glutinous liquid and Will frowned at it, trying to focus. He felt sick with pain, and he was sweating profusely. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or the still-lingering fever.

"What the hell is that?" His throat stung painfully-he wondered what Crawford had done to wake him. It felt like his skin was freshly burned-but that could not be. He must have used the knife again.

"You wouldn't know it," Crawford told him. "A little alchemy made up in a big city and I keep around here in case I ever have need of it…"

Will straightened his head, wincing. His shoulder throbbed violently "What does it do?"

In answer, Crawford tilted the vial over Will's exposed left hand, allowing a single drop of the liquid to fall from it onto his skin. Instantly Will was certain that his hand was being set alight-the fierce, agonising burn pulsed right through him and he yelled in horror, jerking back against the wall. Looking down at his hand he was amazed not to find it charred dead black-instead he saw only a small puckered white burn mark. Breathing hard, the pain still not abating, he stared up at Crawford in fury.

"What…the…"

"Fun, isn't it?' Crawford said gleefully, and tore aside Will's tunic with his single hand. Will could not restrain a moan of fear as his captor tilted the vial again, this time more steeply, and a full thick trail of the unknown acid inside was poured out across Will's chest. His head snapped back against the rock wall as he gritted his teeth in the unimaginable agony, fighting not to scream-he heard a kind of gasping, sobbing noise from somewhere and it took him a while to realise that it was himself making it. He could not see, could not breathe, could not hear-there was nothing but the blaze of pain cutting across his chest, surely burning right through him leaving a grotesque crescent-shaped hole through his body, not even bleeding because all the blood in him had been cauterised and turned to fire-

When at last he could hear again, when he slumped panting and trembling against the cave wall, the first thing he was aware of was Crawford's cackle in his ear: "You're brother's on his way, kid, but don't you worry. We've got plenty of time to ourselves first."

I realise Crawford wouldn't say 'kid' like that in this time, but it was the best thing could think of for him to call Will…It fits his character I think. Anyways, hope you liked it!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Will was still hunched and bound in the back of the cave, and he was busily working on scraping away with a hard piece of stone at the cords binding his hands. He was not getting far-his fingers were bruised and bleeding and the acid burns were absolute agony-but he forced himself to keep trying. He could not just reconcile himself to existing like this-Robin would not come, and he was going to have to get himself out of this crazy mess. He went on scraping till his fingers were numb, and the ropes no looser-then, as Crawford's bulky shadow lightened the cave entrance, he went still and lifted his aching head in a final kind of defiance.

"You came crawling back then," he said. His voice sounded odd; strained and hoarse, from fear and pain. At least it did not tremble. Crawford gave a kind of sinister giggle.

"I could always whip you for your insolence, like any good master," he pointed out, hunkering down beside Will. "How would you like that?"

"Do your worst," Will said as flippantly as he could manage. "Maybe we'll grow old together waiting for Robin, won't that be cosy."

"You still think your brother won't come…" Crawford smiled and Will saw a yellow gobbet of spit trail from between his swollen lips. "What you think matters not. Now…" He inspected Will almost scientifically. "What next? I know-let's get our old friend out, shall we…" He reached behind him and pulled out an object Will recognised-the _knife_, and the burning stab wound in his shoulder seemed to flare with fresh pain at the sight. Crawford leaned closer, leering down at his young prisoner, the knife glinting dully in the dim light as he inched it nearer to Will's face. The youth dared not move, hypnotised by the play of shadows off the blade, by the memories.

"You think your brother'll be interested in _this_-" He cut sharply into Will's cheek, drawing a long, thin line, and Will felt blood pouring over his cheek. He forced himself to keep still-it was not a serious wound, just painful. "Or this-" And he drew another line, deeper and harsher, along Will's side, not enough to penetrate any vital organs, but just to cause a great deal of blood to be lost. Will's entire body was tense against the pain and his breath came in quick jerks as he struggled not to scream. He could not give this monster the satisfaction of knowing that he was losing control.

Crawford regarded him with great interest, the knife, from which blood dripped liberally, held up before his face. "You're one stubborn little whelp, aren't you," he mused. "I like them feisty, if you know what I'm saying, kiddo…"

Will ignored him almost desperately, staring stonily over his shoulder, fear pulsing through him. The pain was almost overwhelming. Crawford reached out and grabbed his face, twisting it round towards his, shoving his own up close until his nose almost touched Will's.

"Does _that_ scare you?" he breathed. "Just remember we've got plenty of time…" He released Will, pushing him roughly back against the wall so violently that the youth's face smacked hard off the rock and for an instant he saw stars dance before his eyes. Crawford winked and took up the knife again. This time Will felt it stab deep into his upper leg, through skin and muscle and tendon, and he could not restrain a scream of agony, rocking forwards in a vain attempt to protect himself, strangled by the ropes, blinded by scalding tears. Crawford smiled, twisted the knife inside his leg and Will cried out again, unable to believe that he was not dead and in hell, that it was possible to hurt this much.

With a horrible sickening crunch Crawford dragged the knife slowly free, sadistic relish filling his squashed eyes, his smile widening with every short, choked cry and laboured breath his game drew from his young prisoner. Will's eyes were clenched shut, his body convulsing against his bonds; he could not get in enough air, his head was spinning. Blood soaked his clothing and the rocky floor where he was bound, and as Crawford finally jerked the knife free he sagged forwards, black spots dancing before his eyes, struggling not to pass out, fighting just to pull agonising gasps of air into his starved lungs. His leg was on fire; he was almost sure that Crawford had hacked it clean off, nothing else could hurt like this, it should not even be _possible_-

And crouching in the bushes only metres from the cave entrance, Robin heard his little brother's strangled yell, and his heart clenched within him as his hand tightened on his bow, and he inched forwards across the muddy ground. That scream cut him to the core, the sheer uncontrollable agony of the person he cared for more than almost any other-_and it was his fault_.

…

Robin was on the point from jumping straight up and rushing into the cave despite the danger-his brother's screaming and sobbing cut him deep and the knowledge that he could just _stop_ it with a single arrow was intoxicating. He crouched there in the bushes on edge and on tenterhooks, having to force himself to be still, and then, just as he was about to rise, he saw a tall, bulky figure come lurching out of the cave and striding away into the forest. Robin made himself wait a minute, then, when he was certain that the figure had really gone, he straightened up and ran silently, desperately, for the cave.

On entering, at first all he could see was darkness, the rough curvature of rock walls; then, as his eyes slowly adjusted, he could see the twisting tunnel ahead and, with one final glance back at the light of the forest outside, he ran on into the shadows. He had not come far when he came across Crawford's lair-when he looked away from the half-eaten horse carcass, and the numerous weapons, utensils and bones strewn across the floor to the slumped body bound to the wall. Instantly he was across the cavern, dropping to his knees beside the skinny broken figure, his bow clattering to the ground, reaching out to cup his little brother's bloodied face below the tousled fair hair in his two hands.

"Will! Oh God, Will, can you hear me?"

Will's eyes cracked open and he shrank back in instinctive fear. "No, no, it's me," Robin whispered, trying to calm him. "It's me, Will. I'm getting you out of here…"

"Robin?" Will croaked, his voice hoarse and broken from screaming. "Robin, he wants you…it's a trap…you gotta go…"

Robin was not even listening, his attention focused on the grievous extent of his brother's injuries. A new, jagged stab wound in his leg still poured blood all over the ground and judging from the clammy pallor of Will's face and his weakness he had already lost too much blood-other cuts, scarcely less serious, patterned his chest and shoulders, along with a number of strange, inflamed whitish burns-there was even a gash across his cheek. "What the hell has he done to you?" he whispered, outraged, suddenly having to stop and get a hold on his emotions as an almost uncontrollable fury pulsed through him. He reached out again, his fingers brushing Will's forehead and he frowned at the intense heat radiating off him. His brother was hurt and sick, and if Robin couldn't get him out of here very quickly he might not make it back to camp.

"_Robin_," Will said urgently, struggling to sit up straight, his head spinning. "Robin, he wants revenge on you, it's you he wants, you have to get outa here!" He felt dizzy and nauseous, and the pain was almost too much to focus through, but his heart was, irrationally, elated-he knew that Robin's being here was a _bad_ thing, that his brother had walked straight into Crawford's trap and that it was only going to cause them both more pain and then horrible deaths…he _knew_ all that. He just could not help but be overjoyed, deep inside, that his big brother had come for him, after all.

"Why does he want revenge?" Robin queried, surprised. "I don't know him, do I?"

"He says you cut off his hand or something, look, you have to go!"

"I'm not leaving you here alone, Will…" Robin had pulled out his knife and was sawing at the cords immobilising Will's hands. "You think you can stand up?"

"I think-"

Will did not see it happen. He saw the shadow blot out the light, was overcome by the familiar stench. He heard Robin yell his name, and then darkness.

**I'm sorry this chapter's so short, it just had to end there and I'll try to update sooner to make up for it! I'd love to know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

Not so much story progression here, I'm afraid, mostly torture, but it had to be there. More will happen in the next chapter, I promise!

Chapter 7:

When Robin opened his eyes it was to a splitting headache and a feeling of utter panic-his last memory was of someone grabbing him from behind with immense strength, and an explosion of pain in his head. Now he realised that only a few minutes could have passed, but that he was now bound to a stake in the rock wall opposite Will, and that the enormous man he surmised inhabited the cave and was behind everything, was crouching beside his brother, who seemed to be unconscious.

"Get away from him!" Robin snapped. The man turned, smiling, spittle glistening in his tangled beard. "Finally I have you where I want you, Robin of Locksley."

"Who are you?" Robin demanded. The man cocked his head.

"Don't you remember? Well-why would you? I'm just that poor peasant you pulled off a girl all those years ago, the one whose hand you cut off." He waggled his stump in Robin's face and Robin, amazed, could only stare as the memories filtered back.

"You were going to rape that girl! And I only cut your hand off when you tried to throttle me with it!"

The man leered, a mad glee glinting in his squashed eyes. "Details," he breathed. "I'm John Crawford at your service, and you're here so I can have my revenge."

Robin could not believe this. It had been maybe three or four years ago, this incident; when riding through the woods he had come across a man who did indeed bear some kind of resemblance to this twisted swollen monster, about to rape a young girl. He had dismounted and drawn his sword, ordering the man to leave the girl alone. The man had looked up, giving the girl time to make a dash for it, then lunged at Robin with insanity in his eyes and tried to strangle him. Robin had effectively panicked, wielding his sword wildly to save his life, though it was true that he had not been exactly heartbroken when the man's hand had crunched to the ground beside him, leaving only the stump of a wrist spurting blood.

Saving the girl was one of the few acts of his youth he had been proud of. The lack of remorse at cutting the would-be rapist's hand off-well, that he was not proud of. But he had been different then. He had changed since, since the crusades and all that had happened afterwards.

Though that did not mean he was absolved of all his crimes. Still, this was not exactly a crime like the others…

"If you want to avenge yourself on me," he said determinedly, "Go ahead and try. But let my brother go. He has no part in this."

Crawford's smirk widened. He looked delighted. "But _Robin_, he _does_. There is no better way of hurting you, is there now? Knowing that whatever I do to your sweet little brother is your fault and on your conscience. Didn't you think of that?"

Robin froze with horror. Will had tried to tell him, _tried_-he had not listened. He never did. And now he was only going to be the cause of more pain to his brother, an innocent, and there was nothing he could do about it…his gaze flashed to Will as he lay slumped against the wall. He had clearly been seriously tortured for days already and Robin had no doubt that he might not last much longer. He looked younger than he was, fearfully vulnerable, the overlong fair hair scattered across his face, covered in blood, his shirt torn open to bare numerous clearly painful injuries, the shimmering of sweat on his brow testament to his high fever. He had always been lean but now Robin could see all his ribs-he looked so _destroyed_.

"_Please_," Robin heard himself saying. "Please. Do what you will with me but I'm begging you, don't hurt him any more. I'm _begging_!"

Crawford shuffled across to him, pushing his disgusting face close up to Robin's. "I _love_ it when they beg," he breathed. "There'll be much more of that by the end, I promise you. And I'm most awfully sorry, but I'm going to have to disregard your request. Seems a pity when you asked so nicely, but business is business." He withdrew his face and Robin sucked in a sudden gulp of untainted air.

"Robin-" The voice was weak and hoarse but filled with horror. Both Robin and Crawford looked back to see Will struggling to raise his battered body into a sitting position, his blue eyes in agony, his face twisted with panic. "No, Robin-"

"I'm sorry," Robin replied hopelessly. "I'm so sorry, Will-"

"Now that's touching," Crawford commented, crossing the cavern once more to Will, who turned his face away, holding himself rigid with disgust. "That's really lovely. Now that you're both here at last maybe we can really get started? Good." He bent over Will, vampire-like, and Will yelled in panic as he realised, struggling away as Crawford's rotting teeth sank into the flesh of his shoulder, cutting deep, drawing blood. Robin shouted out his name, straining against his bonds in a vain attempt to reach him-useless. Crawford withdrew his face, teeth dripping with Will's blood, smiling.

"You taste good," he said in delight. "Maybe I'll have to try you again some time."

"Leave him _alone_!" Robin cried furiously. "For God's sake, he's done nothing!" Will, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe against the pain and nausea, face twisted as far away from the bite wound on his shoulder as possible, managed to lift his head and stare into Robin's eyes. And in his little brother's face Robin read something that chilled him to the bone-a hopelessness, almost a resignation. Will was telling him that whatever happened now, it would not be his fault-he was telling him that they would not make it.

And Robin was powerless to do anything as Crawford reached inside his jerkin and withdrew the tiny clear phial of liquid. He did not recognise it, but Will surely did-though he clearly fought to remain strong and impassive his entire body flinched away involuntarily as Crawford advanced with the phial. The one-handed man's face was twisted into a leer of triumph and relish as he glanced back at Robin.

"Watch this closely, Locksley," he ordered. "This is _art_."

Robin did watch. He wished he did not have to, wished he could turn his face away, but this was _Will_ being tortured in his name and he could not insult him by hiding his face in cowardice. No, he must watch, and useless though it was, he had to believe Will could make it through. He watched as Crawford drew spiralling shapes and thick smeared lines of the clear liquid across Will's chest and shoulders, saw, horrified, the wisps of white smoke wafting up from his brother's skin, the livid red-rimmed silver burns left behind. He heard Will's strangled screams, saw his body convulse in agony, thrashing desperately and involuntarily, saw him sink at last back against the wall, breathing far too fast, barely semiconscious. Robin found that he too was almost hyperventilating, the anguish and fury pulsing through him uncontrollable, almost overwhelming, and he struggled to master himself. Will needed him to be stronger than this.

"Well, Locksley?" Crawford queried in an almost polite tone. "What did you think of the show?"

"I think you should know that one day soon I will personally rend you limb form limb," Robin said in a voice of deadly calm that surprised even himself. "_Believe_ me."

"Excellent," Crawford answered cheerfully. "Shall we continue?"

Robin's precarious control snapped. "For God's sake leave him alone!" he yelled, thrashing wildly at his bonds. "You goddamn coward, too scared to mess with someone your own size? Just untie me and we'll settle this like men of honour!"

"But I am not a man of honour, Locksley," Crawford pointed out. "As surely even you must have realised by now. And _this_-" He gestured to Will, who, struggling for breath, had just opened his eyes and was staring between them in bewildered, agonised fear. "-is my preferred course of action." His hand closed on the hilt of the knife once more and Will, too dazed to fully comprehend exactly what was going on around him, had no time to prepare himself before the blade sank deep into one of the worst burns and he let out a howl of pain, his head slamming back against the cliff wall. He heard Robin shout his name and it was that alone that brought him back to reality-he had to be strong. He had to be strong so that Robin would not see his shame. He had to fight this. He forced his body to straighten, opened his eyes.

"That the best you got?" he gasped out recklessly. Crawford smiled, blasting Will with rotten breath, and stabbed again.

…

Will was slumped against the wall, his shirt gone and the skin of his chest and arms torn to ribbons. He lay in a pool of blood, his body twisted awkwardly against the wall in his bonds, head hanging down and face concealed by his ragged fair hair. Crawford had gone out, God knew where, probably to torture some forest animal, and Robin, his voice raw from screaming his little brother's name, called out once more.

"Will?"

Will stirred, flinched as if from some invisible shock of pain. Robin, encouraged, his heart torn with pity, tried again.

"Will, c'mon. Open your eyes."

Slowly, painfully, Will obeyed, forcing his eyes open and staring up into Robin's face. He looked destroyed-he looked broken.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, barely audibly. Robin was amazed.

"What for?"

"For…being _weak_." Contempt was plain in Will's voice as he turned his face away-Robin understood it. Will had grown up hating, fighting, alone. When Robin had first met him he had seen, below the audacity and anger and rebellion, someone bitter, someone afraid to show who he was inside, someone who needed to be strong and in control, or he was weak and unworthy of life. It was the way Will had grown up; it was legacy of a hard and solitary life below the shadow of what might have been, and though in the last few weeks he had begun to relax a little, begun to let his emotions and truths shine through the hardened exterior, the one thing he had always hated most was for another, particularly one whose respect or love he deemed important, to see his weakness or vulnerability.

Robin knew how much this must be tormenting Will now. He just did not know if anything he could say would in any way help.

"Will," he said, very quietly, very steadily. "You're not weak. What he's doing to you is beyond…_anything_, and you're still standing up to him. You're strong, Will. You're stronger than I ever imagined. Stronger than me."

Will looked up at him, a strange mixture of hope and wariness in his blue eyes. "Why'd you come for me, Robin?" he whispered. "I thought-"

"I was stupid," Robin said bluntly. "I was stupid. I said things I never meant to say because I was angry, Will. I'm not surprised you ran off but you have to believe that I didn't mean anything I said. I swear. And I just hope one day you can forgive me, again. I came for you because you're my brother. Can't you believe that?"

The ghost of a smile crossed Will's battered face and he managed to sit slightly straighter. "Then we'll just have to think of a way outa here together," he said hoarsely.

It was not long before Crawford returned, this time bearing with him a strange knotted rope-Will knew exactly what it was for. He had never been hit with a whip like that before, but he had seen it happen in his village often enough. Crawford took his knife and to Will's amazement he sliced through his bonds, letting him slump to the floor, hands and ankles still tied but free from the wall. Focusing his courage Will made a massive effort and managed to push himself to his feet, only to stagger under a wave of dizziness and crumple against the rock wall. Crawford snickered and advanced, pinning him while he struggled, while Robin yelled curses at their captor, and somehow the world was spinning and shaking and when Will regained control he found himself staring at the ground, on his front on the stone under Crawford who was straddling his back and readying the whip.

Panicking, Will fought to break free but the other man was far stronger and heavier than he, and he could not get away, could barely even breathe. I'm sorry, Robin, he thought desperately, and braced himself for the first blow. It cracked across his shoulders and pain blasted through him-he restrained a scream with a fierce effort, tasting blood in his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. The second crack of the whip was worse and his hands fisted in the dirt, body spasming, desperate to contort, to curl around the agony but prevented from doing so by Crawford's bulk-

And Robin, as before, was paralysed and could only watch in mute horror as Crawford, essentially sitting on Will's back, literally beat his brother until the skin of his shoulders was torn and flayed, barely recognisable as human, as Will passed from enduring desperately to crying out in hopeless agony with each blow, to, finally, a deathly silence as he blacked out, his limp body jerking with every impact. Robin was not sure whether to be glad that Will could no longer feel the pain, or terrified that he had actually been beaten to the point of unconsciousness. Nothing he could say to Crawford made any effect-the man just laughed and continued, and went on and on and on torturing Will, torturing Robin, until the older brother was sure that he would never stop.

**Um-yes, slightly depressing chapter? In contrast to the rest of the story that is, which is so cheerful. Anyways next one will exhibit a little more hope…a little…leaving me a review will make me so happy! :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

I'm sorry it's been a bit longer than usual since I last updated, I've had so much to do! Also I rewatched the movie a few days ago and I realised that Robin actually states that Will is twelve years younger than him, not ten as I've written in here. So it doesn't really matter, but from here on in Robin's thirty now. Okay? :-)

Chapter 8:

Will opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. His entire body hurt-he could not help wondering if he was in hell and burning for eternity. His back particularly seemed to be on fire but when he managed to focus his vision it was to see the rock ceiling of Crawford's cave swim into view, and he heard Robin's voice ringing in his ears. The horror of memory swamped him briefly.

"Will? Will, c'mon, you gotta wake up-"

He did not want to move. He managed to ascertain that he was cramped into a sitting position and once more bound to his stake in the wall, the position aggravating the agony of his back, but he knew that any movement would only make it worse. He heard a soft cackle-

"Ah, so little brother's woken up at last, has he? Excellent. We can have some more fun."

He turned his head slightly, sickened by agony. Shapes and colours danced before his eyes and he fought back a wave of nausea, forcing himself to breathe. Robin sat opposite him, staring worriedly down at him, and Will tried to smile, tried to reassure his older brother.

"Rob…m'okay…" he mumbled. "Don't…worry." A firm hand descended suddenly on his shoulder, gripping hard, pressing directly on the bite wound and Will yelled in shock and pain, head snapping round to face Crawford.

"You don't like seeing your big brother scared for you?" his foul captor asked in a fake-sympathetic voice. "Oh that's just so sweet…" His hand dug deeper into the broken skin and Will bit back another cry. Be strong. Be strong. Don't give him the satisfaction…

"You know what else is fun?" Crawford hissed in his ear. "It's _you_. You're so small, so young, so _sweet_. How about we show big brother just how sweet you can be?"

"Go to hell," Will returned savagely, hoarsely, fighting to conceal the panic tearing him apart within. This monster was capable of anything and Will was entirely at his mercy. His hands struggled desperately, almost involuntarily now, with their bonds-it had become a kind of nervous habit that he would try instinctively to loosen the knotted ropes whenever he was afraid. Whatever that said about his state of mind.

"You've had your revenge!" Robin snarled from across the cave. "Just let him _go_!"

Crawford glanced at Robin and smiled. "Oh, I don't think so, Locksley," he breathed. "We have so much left to do." So saying he trailed the stump of his arm across Will's bare, scarred stomach, laughing when his muscles bunched instinctively in defence. "You don't like it?" he said softly. "That's too bad…"

Will leaned his head back, ignoring the wave of dizziness that broke over him, and brought it sharply forwards, taking Crawford by surprise and butting him in the middle of the face-he heard a crack. The man stumbled back with an exclamation, clutching his nose, while Will struggled to focus through the spikes of pain pounding through his head. Crawford managed to recover his balance, glaring at Will through a mask of blood.

"You want to play rough, kid?" he hissed. "As you wish…" He lunged forwards, fingers digging into the scarred, shattered skin of Will's chest and stomach, his enormous bulk almost suffocating him. Will's hands strained desperately at the creaking ropes. Pain burst through his abdomen as he felt Crawford's teeth penetrate his skin again-Robin was howling his name in helpless desperation, and then there was a scrape and a rush of air and Will did not even realise it at first but suddenly his hands were free and automatically he had shoved his fist into Crawford's already broken face, causing his attacker to lose his balance and sway off him. Will, panicked, fumbled feverishly with the ropes around his ankles, coming to his feet leaning against the cavern wall with them still tangled about his legs. Crawford rose too, and his face was twisted with a leering rage.

"Now here's as good a way as any to tear big brother's heart out," he snarled. Will struggled to remain on his feet-his best option was to free Robin, who was stronger right now-Robin could stand unaided, at any rate, and maybe he could beat Crawford. But there was no time, no way to do anything but fight alone. There was no _time_-

Crawford lunged again and Will half leaped, half fell out of the way, casting about desperately for a weapon. He gripped the cavern wall as Crawford advanced again, spit dripping from his rotten mouth, a rabid fury burning in his crazed eyes. "I'm gonna rip you limb from limb, kid," he whispered. Will backed away, trying to think, trying to focus. He would never be able to defeat this monster with his bare hands-even had he been at his full strength he would not have had a chance. So he was going to have to find another way… At that moment fear surged through him as he saw what Crawford was hefting in his hand-the knife, blood crusting its blade. Now he had the weapon, too…

It was very fast. Crawford sprang for Will again and though Will tried to dodge away again this time he was not quick enough. He felt the immense weight cannon into him, bear him down-he fell hard, striking his head on the stone floor. For a moment he was dazed-he felt the great beefy wrist block his throat and struggled wildly, thrashing, choking. Light glinted off the knife blade and Robin screamed his name-Will made one final effort and twisted aside-the knife struck stone with such force sparks flew. Crawford swore in his ear-Will could not breathe. The world was spinning around him, fading to black, the pressure on his throat agony that was slowly drifting away-he fell downwards into darkness and chaos-

"_Will_!"

Robin-

Will forced his eyes open, gasping hopelessly, desperately. The knife plunged-his hand went up and somehow fastened on Crawford's arm, stopping it as it fell. Helpless and frantic he struggled against the bigger man's strength, trembling, unable to breathe. Robin could only watch, horrified and useless as his brother fought their captor for the knife-he could not see everything, Crawford's bulk concealing Will almost completely, but the uplifted knife in the massive blotched hand was as clear as crystal, the smaller, shaking hand trying to push it away still plainer. He saw Will's hand fall, heard his little brother's yell of pain, saw Crawford's body surge upwards as he stabbed, saw a fountain of red blood.

Both bodies fell abruptly still and Robin could hear nothing but someone's harsh, laboured gasping. Whose? He could not tell if it was Will still breathing or Crawford.

And then a motion, barely visible. Crawford's back shook and he seemed to try and move. Robin's heart stopped. _Will_-

Crawford swayed upwards and toppled over sideways to crash to the floor, eyes wide and staring. Will, soaked in blood and fighting to breathe, shoved the rest of the man's bulk off him and with an obvious effort pushed himself into a sitting position. Robin could not smile, could not speak-the unbelievable relief that pulsed through him on seeing his brother alive froze him where he was. He looked like a frightened child sitting there beside the corpse in the sea of blood, shocked and vulnerable and traumatised-but alive. The exhausted blue eyes stared back at him and then Will had pushed himself onto his hands and knees and was moving with excruciating, desperate slowness towards him. One hand came up and fumbled the ropes binding Robin apart-they fell to the ground and in that instant Robin's arms were around Will, holding his thin, trembling body close, feeling him slump against him, utterly spent.

"How?" he whispered in his brother's ear, amazed. "How did you-"

And then, as Will pulled a little away and Robin saw the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth he understood. Will had _not_. Crawford _had_ stabbed him. It was just that Will had not been defeated at that moment, and summoned the strength to kill Crawford right back, to save his older brother's life even then.

"No," Robin breathed in horror. "No, Will…"

"I'm sorry," Will croaked, barely audibly. Robin's hands on his shoulders were all that held him upright, and now quite suddenly he swayed forwards and collapsed into his brother's arms as the world closed blackly over his head. "No," Robin said numbly. "No, no, no…" He shook him gently, desperately. "Will." No response. He shook him again, his hands shaking-"Will!"

Robin kicked the ropes away from his feet, holding Will's limp body away from himself as he inspected him-in the right side of his scarred chest a deep stab wound pulsed blood all over them both, the boy's own heartbeat driving the life from his body. "No no no-" He was still breathing, but so shallowly, so faintly it was almost indistinguishable and when Robin listened to his chest it was to hear a beat so quiet and erratic he was amazed it even still existed. He stumbled to his feet, his body stiff and aching, then bent and slid his arms under Will's shoulders and knees, lifting him in his arms like a child, his head cradled against his older brother's shoulders. He weighed too little-it was as if the pain and torture of his last days had burned away everything that lay below his skin, leaving only an empty weightless husk that Robin could carry with ease. And carry him he did, out of that blasted cave and into the breeze and sunshine and freedom of the forest beyond.

It was Will's first time out of the cave in days. It seemed especially tragic to Robin that he should not even be conscious to know it.

**I know, another cliffy! But at least Crawford's dead now, right? Also I'm not great at writing fight scenes like that, so it may not be very good…anyways! Pease review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry it's taken so long for me to update! I've been on a school trip in Italy for a week…but here it is anyway! Lots of brother love in this chapter!

Chapter 9:

Robin laid Will's unresponsive body down on the grass just outside the cave, trying not to be terrified by the sheer amount of blood still leaking from his little brother's body. He dropped to his knees beside him and fumbled at the torn wound in his chest, trying to wipe away some of he blood to better see the injury-it was impossible. He was beginning to panic, the world greying at the edges; he could not believe that Will could have any blood left to lose. He fought to control himself, knowing that if he lost his head now Will would die-

Then he was yanking off his shirt and ripping it violently into strips, desperately. He lifted Will's motionless body into a sitting position against him, leaning him against his chest, feeling the youth's head loll back onto his shoulder. "It's okay, Will," he heard himself whispering urgently. "It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna get you out of this, just hold on for me, you hear? Just hold on…" Wrapping one of the strips of his shirt around the stab wound, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding only to be horrified by the way the blood continued to flood out, staining the rough cloth. He took another and did the same again, ignoring his queasiness and trying to hold the torn flesh together with his bare hands. He needed a needle and thread-he needed to stitch this to stop the bleeding, but there was none forthcoming. Somehow, he was going to have to get Will back to the camp alive without ever having stitched this injury…

Hopelessness filled him and he felt a tear of pure despair slip from one eye. It was insane, impossible. Will was doing to die here and there was nothing Robin could do about it, nothing.

Next instant he had forcibly dragged himself together and focused once more on the bloodstained cloth pressed to his little brother's chest. Will would not die. He would not let him.

He ended up using his entire shirt just to stem most of the bleeding. He did not know how much good it had done, though-even when he managed to slow the blood loss it was to find himself sitting beside a pile of crumpled and blood-sodden bandages. He did not seem to have saved Will anything at all, and his brother still slumped against his chest, head hanging forwards with his hair covering his face, white as a corpse. "Hey," Robin said swiftly. "Hey, Will, can you hear me? Open your eyes, Will, I'm here…" Nothing. "C'mon, Scarlett, you gonna sleep all day?" But the weak and trembling joke fell flat when Will still did not stir. Robin checked his breathing-every laboured gasp came short and harsh, far too shallow. His pulse was erratic and fluttering, but at least it was still there. Robin had almost not expected it. He laid his little brother down on the grass once more and, steeling himself, returned to Crawford's cave. Even doing so seemed like walking straight into hell, but there was a chance the man had had some materials he could now use to save Will's life.

He was not expecting miracle cures and he found none. What he was able to salvage, stepping in disgust across the corpse of their torturer, was a pile of rags and torn clothes that could pass for bandages, and returned outside with the sense of crawling out of a filthy stinking crack in the ground into the free air once more. Will had not moved, and when Robin went to him he finally felt the searing heat radiating off the boy's body and he cursed. It felt as if Will was on fire; he clearly had a raging fever. He knelt again beside him and this time used the rags to bind around Will's chest, holding the injury together-they were quickly stained with blood again, but to Robin's relief it was less than before. He wrapped Will's entire torso with the makeshift bandages, feeling a slightly irrational sense of delight when the blood did not seep through the last layer. "There, you see?" he told his brother almost cheerfully. "I said we could do this, didn't I?"

He was so focused on his task that he did not hear the shuffling sounds coming from behind, nor the laboured breathing. It was only when he felt the hot panting on his neck that he noticed the presence and flung himself aside just in time, knocking Crawford off-balance and pitching him against the ground, the knife he had been holding falling to the earth inches from Will's face. The man had crawled, dragging his mortally-wounded body out of the cave with his arms, leaving a sickeningly bright blood trail, and now he looked up at Robin with a face distorted by hatred and the spittle that coated his cheeks, and his hand grasped the knife hilt again, and he raised it deliriously-

He was weak, he was wounded. Robin kicked the knife out of his single remaining hand, then brought his boot down hard on the fingers, prompting an outraged squeal from his enemy and hearing a crunch of bone that filled him with perverse satisfaction. "I'll send you to hell myself," he snarled, and Crawford's glare turned suddenly glassy and his head dropped to the earth and Robin, breathing hard with fury and shock, knew that this time he was really dead. He turned back to Will.

"Okay, let's get you out of here…" He spared another minute to hurry back into the cave, uneasy as he was at leaving Will so close to Crawford's corpse, and quickly found his bow and quiver of arrows; they were going to need weapons. Then, returning to the glade, he stooped to wrap his little brother in one of Crawford's old ragged cloaks for warmth, then contemplated how best to carry him out of here. He could not afford to reopen Will's injury by slinging him over his shoulder: there had to be a better way. It was at that moment that he heard the frightened whickering of the new horse tied to a tree trunk a few feet away.

The beast was large enough to carry Crawford's weight, so surely strong enough to bear Robin and Will. What was more, its eyes were not yet frenzied and insane, not having been in Crawford's possession long enough to lose its mind to the horror of its surroundings. Robin untied it carefully, making soothing noises to indicate that he would not harm it, bringing his hands gently down to stroke over its flanks and mane. The horse shivered, pawed the ground, but did not flee. Robin just hoped that this apparently calm disposition was its predominant state. Taking the rope tied round its neck in one hand he led the horse across to where Will lay, lifted his little brother in his arms and carefully seated him on the horse's bare back, leaning him against its neck, then mounting behind him and urging to the horse into a gentle walk. They just had to get out of here…he held tightly to his little brother's body to keep him on the horse just praying desperately that Will would make it.

About half an hour into the journey he did feel Will stir restlessly against him, twisting weakly in his arms, a shudder of uncertainty running through his body. "Will?" Robin queried in suddenly hope, and then suddenly Will was thrashing and flailing around in his grip, on the horse's back, struggling blindly and desperately, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. "No, no-" he moaned. "No, no more-Robin-" The horse reared in panic and Will gave a strangled yell of terror.

"Easy, easy, Will!" Robin cried fearfully, trying to quiet the frightened horse and his feverish brother at the same time. "Hey, I'm here, I'm _here_, Will! Wake up!" He pinned his little brother's arms with an effort, then awkwardly dragged them both down from the horse's back, allowing Will to lie against him on the floor once more. "Easy, take it easy now," he murmured over and over, holding him firmly in a tight embrace as Will's struggles slowly died to an uncontrollable trembling. His saw his eyes crack open to reveal glassy, terrified blue irises beneath, felt Will twist towards him in his grasp. "Robin?" he whispered hoarsely. "Robin, where…where…"

"Shh, shh, don't worry," the older brother replied softly. "You're safe now, you hear? You're going to be all right. He's dead. Crawford's dead."

Will sagged against him his eyes drifting closed once more. "Robin," his voice came, barely audibly. "Hurts…"

"I know, I know, what hurts?"

Will's body tensed up; Robin could feel all his muscles tight and shivering against him. "'verything," he breathed. "Can't…can't…"

"I know," Robin said quietly, his heart torn with pity and helplessness, pressing the boy's thin, shivering body closer to his own, the only comfort he could give. "I know, you just have to be strong now, Will, just be strong. Just hang on and soon we'll get help, I promise…but you can't leave me here, you understand? You have to stay with me."

Will's face clenched in pain. "Not going…anywhere," he managed. "We have…water?"

Robin hated having to shake his head in that instant more than anything else he had ever done.

They went on-there was nothing else to be done. This time Robin listened closely for the sounds of running water, furious that he had not thought to do so beforehand. Will slumped against him, only semiconscious, while Robin, terrified that he might drift into darkness again, kept up a constant stream of ragged and random chatter about nothing in an attempt just to keep him awake.

"…can't believe I never told you but honestly I've never been treated like that before, I mean she really did kick me down there, hurt like hell and all I'd done was sneak a squeeze, it's what we all did and I was never very constant, but that's before I met Marian so keep it to yourself huh Will? Guess you're too young to have any of these stories yet but you're not really that young are you? Different worlds you know, changes your perspective on things…"

"Robin," Will whispered, eyes still closed. "I thought I was the one meant to be delirious."

Robin did not hear this retort; he had just heard the distinct sound of a stream running over rocks from through the trees just ahead. He directed at the horse after it and when they rounded a bend it was indeed to find themselves standing over a small bubbling brook, the clear cold water like crystal, sparkling through the ferns and grasses. He dismounted swiftly and lifted Will down with him, pulling him close to the water's edge and letting him lean against him while he cupped his hands tightly and brought up a fistful of water to his little brother's mouth. Will gasped at the cold of the liquid, then swallowed desperately, almost choking. Robin smiled and scooped up another handful. "Go slow," he told Will. "There's time."

It was getting dark now, the sky stained indigo and black at the horizon, and Robin decided that now was as good a place as any to make camp. He bound the horse to a nearby tree, then laid out a pile of rags and cloaks he had taken from Crawford's cave and eased Will onto them as if they were some kind of bed. If only they had something to eat, he thought. He was starving, and Will had not eaten in over a week-but to get food he would have to go hunting and he dared not leave Will alone in the forest weak and vulnerable as he was.

But even if they could find their way and even on horseback it was several days journey back to camp, and Will needed to eat something if he was to be strong enough to survive the trip.

He bent down beside his semiconscious brother, brushing the sweat-streaked hair out of his eyes, and Will looked up at him dizzily. "I'm going to shoot us some food," Robin told him quietly. "I'll be quick as I can. You stay here and don't move away, don't make any noise. All right?"

"Don't leave me here," Will pleaded, his hand coming up to grasp Robin's sleeve. "Please?" His words were slurred and his voice hoarse, and Robin knew that he was slipping into sleep. It ripped his heart in two to leave him now, but there was no choice. They had to eat. He freed his sleeve and straightened up, picking up his bow. "I won't be long," he promised, and left the stream before another glance at Will's ravaged face could make him incapable of getting away.

It was only an hour before he returned, bringing with him the carcasses of a squirrel and a grouse, which were all he had been able to shoot. Both were skinny and scrawny, but they were better than nothing and it _was_ close to winter. He stepped onto the stream bank and his heart stood still for a moment-he could not see Will, though the horse was still there tied to the tree. Then he caught sight of his brother, a tiny ball wrapped in a dark cloak on the forest floor, curled tight into himself, and dropping the dead animals Robin rushed forwards. Will's face turned up to him, white and sweat-streaked and dazed.

"Are you all right?" Robin demanded urgently. Will stared up at him blankly for a moment, then curled back into his ball and now Robin could see the tremors ripping through the youth's battered body. He grabbed Will under the shoulders and carefully pulled him back into the fading light to lie on the pile of rags. "Hey, hey. I'm back now," he said anxiously. "It's all right…"

Will looked up at him dizzily. "Thought…thought you wouldn't come…back," he slurred.

Robin built a small fire and lit it by striking two rocks together, upon which he cooked the two scrawny animals he had shot, Will lying curled behind him, huddled in his cloak. When they were done Robin again seated his little brother against his body and handed him a slightly burnt grouse leg. Will only turned his face away and handed it back, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. "You really need to eat something," Robin told him worriedly. "C'mon, just a bit."

Will tried, he really did, as much to prove he was not so very weak as to keep from worrying Robin further. But the very smell of the meat made him feel sick, and chewing it was like sinking his teeth through mud. When he tried to swallow his entire body rebelled and his stomach twisted, and he was suddenly retching uncontrollably, bringing up nothing but dark bile, every heave of his body shooting pain through him. At some point he became aware that Robin was actually holding him up and keeping his hair out of his face and when finally his body became his own again he collapsed back into his older brother's arms, fighting for breath, fighting not to scream, sweat and tears mingling and running down his face. Robin stroked his back, his hair, whispering words into his ear, words he could not understand, pain tearing him apart. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to control himself, but it was impossible-he was falling and he was burning, and he was certain he was going to die.

After what seemed like hours he drifted into an uneasy sleep. Robin, holding him all the while, only looked up to the stars and wondered how in the world he could save Will, how they would ever make it. It seemed so far…

Later in the night he was woken by the feel of his brother's violent shivering beside him, and in the dying firelight he looked up to see Will desperately clasping a blanket around him, hunched into it and shaking as if he had the ague. He drew closer, gently touching the youth on the shoulder to wake him, and Will's eyes slid slowly open.

"M'really cold, Robin," he whispered helplessly, childlike in his extremity. Robin did not speak, only lifted him into a sitting position between his legs, so that Will lay with his back to Robin's chest, safe in the warmth and life of his brother's embrace. Robin piled other blankets onto him, wrapping him tightly in the slightly grimy material, and when he felt Will's shivering slowly subside and his head fall limply against Robin's shoulder he allowed himself to shed one tear in his grief and anger for this atrocity that had been done to his brother.

Even so, it was only when the brothers woke the next morning to find that the horse had somehow pulled free and run off in the night that they really understood how much trouble they were in.


	10. Chapter 10

**Early update for you all since the last one took so long to get posted, hope you like it! Thanks to all those of you who are sticking with this story!**

Chapter 10:

Robin scanned the tiny glade with a growing sense of panic. The horse was long gone-the ground was dry and its tracks were almost obscured. Should he try and pursue it? But it would be many hours away by now…and yet how could he get Will to safety without it? He turned to glance back at his brother, who lay huddled in the blankets, eyes half-closed, face flushed by fever and covered with blood. Robin's hand went up to pull at his scalp in frustration. What to do? What would give Will the best chance of survival?

He returned to the pile of blankets and knelt down beside the injured youth. "Will," he said quietly, his voice cracking a little. 'Will, you think you can walk?"

Will's eyes snapped fully open-flashed around the glade instinctively. He noted the absence of the horse without a word and in typical fashion answered as if it did not matter: "Sure I can. That's what legs are for, right?"

Robin tried to smile. "Well, we'd better get going, then." He had secreted the remains of last night's meat in one large pocket, and now he opened it and offered Will a piece. Will went frighteningly white and turned away, shaking his head. Robin did not know what to do-should he insist he ate, when it would only make him throw up? But if he did not try to eat he would never get any strength back…Robin decided to let it go this time and began to gather the blankets. "You still cold?" he asked Will, who shrugged. "Not so much." Robin watched him narrowly, wondering if he was lying, then realised it did not really matter right now.

Robin piled the bundle on his own shoulders and then extended a hand to help Will up, only to find that, clutching a tree and digging his nails in till his fingers bled, Will had already made it to his feet and was standing, swaying a little and his face grey, but upright. His eyes burned with a kind of pride. Robin smiled faintly. "Are you all right?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it Locksley?" Robin was startled by the light-hearted tone, by this return of Will's old spirit, startled and almost relieved. But then he saw the glassy shine of fever in his eyes and he knew that this was only a prelude to something far worse. He stepped closer, trying to take Will's arm, but his little brother jerked away. "I don't need help!" he snapped, and moved away from the tree on his own. Immediately he felt his world begin to spin and he reached out, disoriented, for a support that was not there. He stumbled as nausea welled up inside, and felt himself falling-strong hands caught him and lowered him gently to the ground, and he looked up in shame and pain to see Robin crouching before him, telling him to breathe deeply.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, ducking his head to hide his face.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Robin told him fiercely. "You've been through hell, Will. You have to give yourself some time."

"There is no time," Will returned, his voice a broken croak. When Robin pulled his arm about his shoulders and lifted him to his feet, letting him lean against him for support, Will did not protest this time. He was weak, he was broken, he was useless. Without Robin he would die here-and no amount of willpower could change that.

Together the brothers moved on through the forest, Robin walking slowly and holding Will tightly, supporting almost all his weight. He knew that every step caused the boy great pain, he knew that in every suppressed gasp or jerk would have lain a scream had Will not fought it back. He knew that Will was burning up and breathing far too shallowly, and he could see fresh blood staining the bandage around his torso. Every few minutes Will would stumble or sway, seeming almost to pass out on his feet, but he always managed to recover himself, just, with Robin's help. He was in a bad way and somewhere in his heart of hearts Robin was aware that he could not survive this journey. He was mortally injured and burning with fever, seriously weak, and even had they had a horse the long trek through the forest would have been trying and dangerous and maybe even impossible for one in his condition. On foot it was…ridiculous.

But they had no choice.

Will fell then, properly, full-length onto the dead leaves. His body jerked in a hopeless attempt to get back up again, then he lay still. Robin, panicked, dropped beside him.

"Will?"

"Just leave me here," Will whispered into the mud, voice eroded by the screams he had locked inside, eyes clenched tight shut against the light of the cruel world that had cast him down. "I'm not gonna make it, Robin. You have to leave me and get home…don't want you to die for me."

"Will, no!" Robin snapped. "You can't give up now! Neither of us is going to die, you hear? Now come on, we can do this." He was lying, and Will knew that he was lying. This probably was going to kill Will, and that knowledge lay between them like an unspoken and nebulous shadow, poisoning their strength and courage. But Will opened his eyes and struggled to his hands and knees, and somehow Robin pulled him back to his feet, and they went on.

The day seemed to last forever. Robin could not help wondering if in fact many years passed during that time, unnoticed by either him or Will, if outside the entire world was dead and gone, and they were the only two living beings left. Alone in such stillness, it did not seem impossible. After a few hours of walking Robin's shoulder was aching and he was tiring, himself, but Will was in a far worse condition. He slumped against his older brother, feet dragging, barely able to lift them any longer, his eyes half-closed and his body soaked with sweat. It was clear that he was going on borrowed time and strength, that he had exactly nothing left to give. But Robin could not let them stop now-the closer they could come to camp this day, that fragile chance of survival was slightly increased for Will. It was only when the sky began to darken once more that he knew they had to stop for the night, and whispering to his semiconscious brother that it would be all right, that it was almost over, he began to look around for a suitable place of shelter. An overhanging ride of earth covered with dead leaves presented itself, and he lowered Will to the ground below it, wrapping his cloak closer about his battered, shivering form and seating himself beside him with a sigh of relief.

Will was leaning his head back against the earth wall, his face white, even the sweat baked off it, his eyes closed. Robin turned to him anxiously. "Hey, hey, Will, you with me?"

"Yeah," Will whispered. "Robin…how far is it till we get back?"

Robin did not want to answer, but how could he lie? "Maybe seven days," he admitted, and he saw Will's body sag in despair, then stiffen in determination. Grief filled him-there was no way his little brother could make it through seven more days of this. "How about you let me look at that wound?"

Will's hand came up, unconsciously cradling the stab wound. "It's fine," he mumbled. "Honestly." The makeshift bandage was sodden and dripping, and Robin had to take a couple of deep breaths. "No," he said. "It's not fine. Move your hand."

Will complied reluctantly, and Robin cut away the old bandages with the tip of an arrowhead. They fell away with a great rush of blood and Will's body shuddered with the effort of not yelling. "I'm sorry!" Robin whispered in fervent horror. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it hurts…" The stab wound beneath was livid and horrific, the torn skin having not even begun to heal, and when Robin put his hand close to it the radiating heart made him gasp. Streaks of white played away from it across Will's skin like spools of thread, the clear signs of serious infection. Robin's eyes clenched shut for a moment in anguish-this was not the kind of wound he had ever seen healed or recovered from in his life, even though the Crusades.

"Bad, huh?" Will mumbled, fear and odd defiance mingling in his cracked voice. Robin pulled himself together with an effort.

"Not really. I've seen worse." _On corpses_. "I'm gonna re-tie the bandages and then you can go to sleep, all right?"

"Robin, I know I'm going to die," Will returned, looking into Robin's eyes with a new kind of maturity, suddenly deadly serious. "You don't have to fight a holy war to know what a mortal wound looks like. I'm not going to make it, Robin. You know it as well as I do."

"Don't talk like that," Robin retorted without looking at his brother, binding a length of new cloth about Will's torso. But Will had not finished.

"That's why you should go on without me. I'll be…_dead_ in a day, Robin, a day maximum. You need to survive, you have to go home to Marian. I'm…I'm not as important." He was panting with the effort of speaking, his face was fever-flushed, but his eyes were bright with honesty and courage. Robin had never seen that look before-he had seen Will wary, angry, murderous even, sardonic, obstinate, grief stricken…this new open admission of weakness and self-sacrifice was something he had never known was even in his wild, troubled little brother, and it tore his heart to pieces to see it now.

"I'm not leaving you," was all he said. "You're not going to die."

…

Will's tearing scream cut the night, his body jerked and thrashed against Robin's. "No!" he yelled. "No! _No_!"

"Will, wake up!" Robin cried, struggling to calm his struggling brother, pinning his arms back against the floor. "Will, it's just a nightmare, it's all right!"

"You can't hurt him!" Will gasped. "No-no-didn't want to betray…I wanted to be free…"

"Will, please!" Robin begged, terrified by this unending nightmare. The blue eyes snapped open then, wild and unseeing, and when they fixed on Robin Will's whole body shrank back into the cloak and he flung out a hand in supplication. "I didn't want to betray!" he choked again. "If they'd killed you would've been my fault-he killed my mother, you have to believe I wanted her back!"

Robin understood then, that in his delirium Will seemed to think he was being judged for earlier crimes-namely, his agreeing to betray Robin himself to the Sheriff of Nottingham, weeks ago. He slid an arm under the boy's trembling shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position, cradling him against the shelter of his own body. "No-one holds you responsible for that," he said intently. "You were angry, you were right to be. I wronged you, Will Scarlett, and I was the one needed to be forgiven." He shook his head. "I've done worse when I was angry, believe me. It's over now. Come back, Will, come back."

The terror in Will's eyes slowly died and his tense body slumped against Robin's. He seemed to see the surrounding forest for the first time and he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. "Robin," he whispered. "It hurts so bad…there's too many shadows…it _hurts_-" Robin's arms went around him then, encircling the battered body and holding him close. "I know," he murmured through his heartbreak. "I know it hurts. Just be strong, little brother. Be strong. I'm here with you and I'm not leaving."

"Me…neither," Will croaked out. "Not…leaving…"

…

On the fourth day of their trek Will suddenly stopped and gave a kind of gasp, and then he just crumpled and collapsed without a sound and did not move again, and when Robin felt for a heartbeat he almost could not find one. He could not wake his brother-he thought, then, of what Will had said, knowing that the boy had already come further than either of them had thought he could have-remembering how Will had told him to leave him. He thought of that expression, the honesty and the grief and the sacrifice. He bent to the ground and lifted the unconscious, fever-hot, skinny body in his arms like a child, and he went on, carrying him through the darkness.

"Just keep fighting, Will," he whispered, knowing that Will Scarlett was oblivious, that his body had really just shut down this time. Their only chance lay in the desperate possibility that his mind perhaps had not. "Don't give up now, little brother. I'm here with you. Just hold on."

It was two days later that they reached the camp-Robin had walked through large portions of the night, not stopping to find food or water, only fighting on, determined to save Will this time. He was amazed that his brother was even still alive, if unconscious; it seemed incredible. Now Robin was stumbling with weariness, his brother cradled in his arms, both of them close to the end of their strength, Robin in terms of sleep deprivation but Will in those of basic survival.

It was Marian who saw them first, hearing the slow footsteps across the dead leaves and bracken. She moved to the edge of the clearing, peering through the leaves, and there saw the tall figure coming slowly and stumblingly towards her, saw in his arms the smaller, slighter figure who looked from this distance a child, or a corpse. Her hand flew to her mouth, even in that instant she recognised them.

"_Robin_!"

Her tearing scream alerted the others in the camp and even as she ran towards the two figures Fanny, John, Wulf and Azeem were all on her trail. Robin stopped where he was, standing still and swaying a little beneath the trees, Will's motionless body in his arms with the untidy blond head cradled against his shoulder, as if he weighed nothing.

"I found him," he said dazedly. Then John was there, perceiving Robin's exhaustion and forcibly pulled Will's limp form from his arms into his own. Fanny crossed herself automatically as her eyes focused on the boy's broken, ravaged body-it seemed unbelievable that he was even still alive. Marian flung herself into Robin's arms, clasping him tightly, covering his dirty face and neck with desperate kisses, unable to tell him in any human speech how terrified she had been that he would not return. Wulf stood by in awe and uncertainty, but Azeem went straight to Will, now held by John, and put his long delicate fingers to the boy's neck, feeling for a pulse. "He is alive," he stated. "But very weak. Bring him to my shelter, there is not much time." He paused then, as John began to carry Will away, seeing Robin start forwards after them. "No, Christian," he said. "You need to rest now, or I will have two unconscious bodies on my hands."

Robin's entire being rebelled against letting them take Will away now, after all this, but his mind took over, reminding him that he could do nothing, that they were friends and that Will needed Azeem's medical help rather than his useless fussing, and he watched Will, John and Azeem disappear into one of the shelters, feeling dazed and almost transcendent, before letting Marian pull him away in the other direction.

**There'll be maybe two more chapters after this I think, reviews are inspiration!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Second last chapter now! I should probably explain that I have no medical knowledge at all. This is not usually a problem when I'm **_**not**_** writing about modern hospitals and that stuff, but I realised that this time I was going to need to excuse myself. Everything medicine-related in this chapter comes from various books I've read and is probably not very accurate!**

Chapter 11:

When John laid Will's motionless body down on a pallet in Azeem's shelter, Azeem himself did not hold much hope. He had not very often seen people bearing injuries this severe survive-it was not yet clear exactly what had happened to the boy but he was clearly slipping over the edge of life as things were. Gesturing for John to bring him water Azeem bent beside Will and pushed aside the cloak and blankets that were all that covered his torso. His face barely changed-he was used to hiding his emotions-but even so the corner of his mouth twitched downwards. He was glad right then that Will was unconscious.

The large, ragged stab wound was the most serious. Robin had clearly tried and failed to stop the bleeding and even now the gash wept frightening amounts of blood. In addition to this Azeem could see numerous strange silvery scars criss-crossing Will's chest like snail tracks, other cuts and bruises-disturbingly, what looked like a bite mark on the side of his neck. There was another stab wound too, this one older and apparently less serious, in the boy's left shoulder. It looked as if someone had taken a knife and literally mangled Will's entire chest-Azeem just feared that it was exactly what had really happened. He rolled him gently onto his back and Will did not even stir, but John made a kind of choking sound as he saw the livid weeping whip weals torn across Will's back and shoulders.

"What the-"

"Get the Christian," Azeem told him in a voice of deadly calm. "I will need to know what happened." He heard John's running footsteps as he fled in search of Robin after all, and Azeem turned to remove one of his pots of salve from behind him. Will, before him, seemed so small, so broken, eyes clenched shut against the nightmare of the world. As he unrolled a length of fresh bandage Azeem found himself murmuring soft words of comfort to Will in his own language, knowing that the boy did not hear a thing. At that moment Robin, closely followed by John and Marian, came crashing through the entrance of the shelter.

"Is he going to be all right?" Robin demanded immediately. Azeem sighed.

"It has only been a few minutes since we last saw you. I need you to tell me what happened to him."

Robin took a breath. "He's been tortured for days. Some madman who wanted revenge on me…used Will to hurt me." It was hard to say it-the words were infused with a sense of nightmare that sickened him.

The look of compassion on Azeem's face was intense. "Do you know exactly what he did?"

"Mostly used a knife. A horsewhip too, and some kind of acid, I don't know what it was…Azeem, you have to save him. You have to!" And the famous Robin Hood was pleading, almost crying, and Azeem who always told the truth could not bear to tell him that he had no confidence in Will's survival, that these injuries were beyond serious, that he just could not say…

"I will do my best, Christian," he said honestly. "Now go, all of you, I need light to work in."

He bent over Will, carefully raising the boy's upper body onto his lap and using a long rag dipped in water to try and clean the gaping wound in his chest. "You need to hold on for your brother," he murmured. "He needs you more than you know…"

…

_Crawford was pinning him down, reaching inside his heart with his bare filthy hands and Will was struggling desperately, fighting to throw him off but in vain-he could not breathe, the man's stench suffocating him, the pain unbearable_-

"Lie still, lad, it's all right-"

"He is remembering."

"Get Robin-"

_"You're so sweet, so small-" Teeth digging into his flesh, as if he were no more than a hunk of meat to be devoured at his torturer's pleasure. "He isn't coming for you. He left you all alone…"_

_ "No!" Will yelled in agony. "No-Robin-no!"_

"He's burning up."

"Azeem, for God's sake can't you help him?"

_Pain, unbelievable pain. He was burning alive, his skin flaking off black and charred, helpless in the grip of the fire. He screamed but there was no-one to save him, no-one to hear him. He was alone and he was burning alive. _

Robin looked down at his little brother's ravaged, desperate body in horror. Will thrashed and struggled on the pallet, tossing his head from side to side, sweat running down his grey face in rivers. Losing the fight. He screamed incoherently, his voice broken and rasping but agonised-Azeem had stitched the wounds in his shoulder, leg and abdomen as well as cleaning the other scars and injuries, but infection had set in and Will's fever was raging. It had been two days now that he had lain here, and at first he had been as still as one dead, as he had been when Robin had carried him out of the forest in his arms. Now, however, he was trapped in a neverending nightmare and they were all powerless to help him.

"Robin!" Will yelled hopelessly, raggedly, his body convulsing on the pallet, eyes squeezing shut. Robin inched closer, reaching out to take his little brother's hand. "I'm here, Will. I'm right here…" But Will was unaware of his presence, tearing himself away as if from a monster, a haunting demon, and curling into a clenched protective ball. Robin brought his hand down to brush the sweat-matted fair hair out of Will's face. "Take it easy," he whispered. "It'll be all right. You'll be all right…" And quite suddenly his voice and his composure broke and he half-sobbed: "Goddammit little brother, you have to make it, you have to hold on for me! You can't leave me now!"

A hand descended on his shoulder and he looked up, startled, to see Azeem standing above him, peering down with a great sympathy etched into his dark face. "He is fighting hard," he told Robin seriously. "But you are doing the right thing. I think he needs to be near you."

Robin almost laughed at that, it seemed so ridiculous. "He doesn't even know I'm here, Azeem."

"Maybe he will, soon," his friend suggested. Below them, Will made a kind of whimpering sound, the kind of sound he might have made in the midst of his torture, when he was too exhausted to scream any more. It was a sound that almost broke Robin's heart. Azeem bent down and laid a hand on Will's sweating forehead-the injured youth on the pallet gasped as if touched by ice and unconsciously twisted his face away from the touch.

"His fever will break tonight," he stated calmly. "For better or for worse."

And Robin heard those words with no less impending doom than if Azeem had just predicted the apocalypse.

…..

Robin had not thought it possible for a living person to be this hot. Will's skin seemed to be on fire and yet he was shivering uncontrollably with cold, curled into a tiny ball, huddling the blankets piled about him close. He looked so small, so vulnerable that way. It was nearing midnight, and yet Robin felt no need to sleep. He had barely left his brother's side since their return to camp, resting for a couple of hours only once at the very beginning, on Marian's command.

"_No_…" Will breathed. "No, please…no…"

"It's all right," Robin told him brokenly. "It's all right, Will, you're safe and he's gone, but you have to hold on…"

"Didn't leave me…" Will slurred, turning his head. He sucked in a long, laboured breath of air and Robin's heart stuttered when he almost did not release it again. "Thought you didn't care…"

"I cared, Will," Robin whispered, deducing correctly that in his delirium Will was talking to him. "I cared, I was stupid, thoughtless…God I care."

A long, desperate shudder ran through Will's whole body; he seemed to convulse in on himself with the effort to breathe. Robin heard his own voice howling _No_! And then Will's broken form relaxed suddenly, sagging onto the pallet, his fisted hands falling open to reveal the bloody marks where his nails had dug into the skin of his palms. He exhaled, a long drawn out sigh.

"Will?" Robin whispered. "God, no, no…Will!" And somehow he was hugging his little brother's limp body desperately in his arms, pressing the boy's face into his shoulder, unable to hold him tight enough now that he had failed, failed to save him…

"Robin?" came a hoarse, broken voice. "Robin, what…what're you…"

He looked down, releasing Will, whose blue eyes were open and blinking tiredly up at him. Amazement flashed through him-Will put out one hand to steady himself against the pallet and Robin almost screamed, as if a corpse had come back to life.

"You're alive?" he breathed. Will gave him a wobbly smile.

"I think so." And then Robin was holding him again, this time in joy, ignoring the tears that poured down his face, unable to believe it. But Will was alive, and his fever had broken, and they had made it-when he looked again his little brother had just fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted by the trials of the past few days, weakened by his sickness beyond belief, and Robin smiled through his tears to see the peace and trust in his sleeping expression, to see the way one hand was fisted in his own shirt, holding them together. He pulled him closer, cradling him in his arms like a child, Will's head curled against his shoulder.

"I know you could do it," he said hoarsely. "God, Will, I knew you wouldn't give up. You did it, thank God you did it."

I said I couldn't ever kill Will! There'll be an epilogue chapter coming up soon as possible, I hope you liked this! Reviews are love!


	12. Chapter 12

**(Incidentally I am the same person as TheGhost94, I just changed the username a little bit…) Well here it is, the last chapter! Just an epilogue really, I hope you like it!**

Chapter 12:

The camp in Sherwood Forest was abuzz with the sounds of work and preparation-it was two weeks since Robin and Will had returned to them and Friar Tuck, typically, had deemed it a fitting occasion for a party. Robin was right in the thick of things, laughing, helping, fetching and carrying, Marian close at his side-Will watched him from the shadows and contemplated leaving.

Not permanently, of course. He wasn't going to try that again, and he knew that in any case he would never get far. He could not walk without the makeshift crutch Robin had fashioned for him, the wound in his leg made by Crawford's knife that had become infected still healing. He hated it like poison-he would come limping into some gathering, preceded by the clunking of the crutch, and all those sympathetic, pitying eyes would bore into him, seeing his weakness and making concessions for it. It killed him inside-he was weak, he was vulnerable, and he would have preferred people to treat him exactly the same as before, make him carry out the same tasks as before, and if he failed in them, as of course he would, they should snap at him, rage at him, instead of endlessly excuse him.

He just hated to be the weak one, and right now he wanted out.

Even after his fever had broken and he had begun to recover it had taken almost this long before he had been able to get up on his own two feet. The torture and sickness had taken their toll, leaving him weak and exhausted, causing him great pain whenever he moved. What was worse were the nightmares, when he would relive the horror of the past few weeks over and over again, without the limits of reality-Crawford would tear his body open with his bare hands and lick up the blood, and Will, trapped in the dream, would not even be able to die…

And it was still traumatic just to be touched. At first of course he had not been conscious to feel Azeem's ministering to his injuries, but later, when Azeem had gone to change the bandage around his leg, Will had lost it. Some kind of flashback, a living nightmare that he had fallen into-he had seen Azeem as Crawford and panicked, scrambling and struggling to get away, unable to walk or run, blind in his panic. Azeem had tried to calm him down but it was only when someone had called Robin that Will had been able to look about him with his own two eyes again. Even someone just brushing his shoulder as they passed made his muscles clench as if in preparation for torture-it was horrible, nightmarish, humiliating, but he could not help it. His torturer was everywhere, reaching out mentally and physically, inescapable. Everyone was potentially a threat-every moment he guarded against another flashback of the kind he had suffered with Azeem.

Robin was the only one, somehow, he could trust. Maybe it was because he had been there, in the cave, perhaps helpless but _there_ and thus the only one with any understanding of what Will had actually gone through. Robin was always there now, comforting, supporting, defending, encouraging…and suddenly Will found himself wanting his scorn, his anger, his force. He wanted to be treated as he felt he _deserved_ to be.

But that was just not going to happen.

Now Will stared out through the branches of the trees on a small sandy bank above the camp at the gathering beyond, knowing that he could claim no place there. A cripple, an invalid, useless and broken. Weak. They were building up the fire in the middle of the glade, the craggy pile of twigs and sticks stretching high enough already, though that did not stop the younger children from flinging on extra bundles of kindling, squealing with laughter. Children younger than Wulf. Will found that he did not even know some of them. Woodsmoke blew on the breeze and the sounds of bustle and happiness reached him-that was why he wanted to run. Because he could not go out there now and face them all, face an entire community acknowledging his weakness and failure. He leaned forwards because it hurt, feeling the pressure and pain on the healing stab wound in his chest and glad of it. It helped him feel slightly less empty and hollow inside, slightly less dark and broken. He closed his eyes, his memory scanning back over the cave and Crawford's torture, wondering if he would ever be free of it.

Footsteps crunching across the fallen leaves towards him. Pausing, then continuing, and someone dropped down beside him on the ledge behind the bush. Will did not look up; he could tell from the presence that it was Robin.

"Are you all right?" Robin asked after a while. Will did not respond.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Will-"

"I'm not coming tonight," Will said abruptly. "Just so you know."

Robin sighed. "Will, it's basically our party. How can you not?"

"Why should I?" Will flashed back. "I just want to be left alone."

Robin made no reply to this, only leaning back beside his brother and staring up at the twilight sky, breathing deeply in relaxation. Will ignored him, hunching over and scowling at the muddy ground. After a very long time, Robin said: "Don't you think, if you let this fear take you over, you're letting him win?"

Will rounded on him in fury. "You think I'm afraid? God you're stupid-_afraid_. I'm not afraid. He's dead, remember? I've got nothing to be scared of and I'm not as much of a _coward_ as you seem to think, Locksley."

"I know you're no coward," Robin said softly. "You're one of the bravest people I know, Will Scarlett, and just because your courage is different from mine doesn't mean it's not as strong. I was a fool not to recognise that from the start."

Will shrugged, uncharacteristically uneasy at the compliment. "Doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of him."

"It's all right to be scared of something like that," Robin said. "God knows I am. I dream about him, I see him tearing you up before my eyes and I'm paralysed, can't even move in my dream." He shuddered. "I know there was no way we could have foreseen this. But I'm sorry, Will. I'm the one drove you off. I should have understood that you're not a child."

Will looked up at him, realisation and amazement flowering in his heart. He did not understand how he could be in a world where Robin was saying this to him, where Robin was telling him that he, too, the hero of the people, still dreamed about their torture. "I was the one ran away," he muttered. "I was stupid. But-"

"Being scared doesn't make you weak, you know," Robin told him. "Everyone gets scared."

"I am weak, though," Will replied in a low voice, ducking his head so that his unruly hair fell forward into his face. "Can't even _walk_…"

"You're still recovering, dammit! We didn't even expect you to survive, you'll be walking again in a few days! Will-" And the younger brother looked up, an uncharacteristic openness in his blue eyes, a kind of pleading for the reassurance, the fellowship, the trust and the _strength_ that only an older brother could give, that Will had never even known he _missed_ in his life before. That once he would have died rather than accept he felt. That look made Robin's heart open wide. "Will, you don't understand how close you came to dying. Even Azeem didn't think…it's a miracle you made it and I can't believe you could ever think you're weak after that."

For once in his life, he realised, he had said the right thing. A faint smile lightened Will's drawn face and his eyes seemed to take on an expression almost of hope. Robin grinned, delighted at this subtle change.

"And sure you're not gonna be running around hunting deer in a few days. But someday soon you will, once you're healed properly. And your strength is something you should never doubt, all right? And neither should I." He stood up and stretched out a hand to help his little brother to his feet. "Now let's go and prove it."

Will shook his head. "I don't want to go out there. It's like they all _pity_ me."

"They _admire_ you," Robin told him intently. "And the little children think you're some kind of hero. Can't _imagine_ why."

Will smiled at last and took the proffered hand, picking up his crutch and getting to his feet. Robin sprang down off the little ledge and reached out to help his injured brother, but one look into Will's fiery eyes reminded him, and he stepped back. Will jumped, landing hard on his injured leg but with the aid of the crutch managing to keep his feet, and hiding his wince of pain behind a grin of triumph. That was what he needed to do for himself to prove that he was worth anything at all. Somehow, Robin finally understood that.

And together they strode through the trees back into the glade, towards Marian, and Fanny, and Wulf, and John, and Tuck, and Azeem, and all the people that once not so long ago they had saved and brought together, both of them aware that some day soon the nightmares would pass, and the sunlight would nevermore be tainted by dark memories. Aware that they had been given another chance, and that this time they would not fail.

They were brothers. That was as good a foundation stone as any to build a world on.

Well I did it! I finished it! I was really overwhelmed by the response for this story, and I want to thank all of you who stuck with it till the end and those of you who left me reviews I want you to know that I would never have finished it without your support and encouragement, and I really appreciate you all! Thank you all so much! I really hope you liked it and that the epilogue did not disappoint!

I don't have any other ideas for Robin Hood (Will Scarlett!) stories right now, but since it's such an epic film I bet I'll think of something at some point. Until then!

**Thanks again!**

**Anna**


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